
GwrigMI^^ 



COPYRIGHT DEPQSm 



THE TALE 

OF A 

PLAIN MAN 



William A: 'Stone 



-^ 



1917 



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©GI.A478357 



COMPLIMENTS OF THE AUTHOR 



THE TALE OF A PLAIN MAN. 

In writing these memoirs at the request of my children 
and grandchildren I am not influenced by the thought that 
they will ever be read except from a sense of filial duty, but 
having the time I am simply going to try to relate what 
happened to me in a long life. There is no adventure nor 
romance in my life. It has been simply an ordinary life 
like most lives. 

William A. Stone. 



CHAPTER I. 

Childhood. 

I have no recollection of being born, but from what has 
been told me, and other evidence I am convinced that I was 
born on the 18th day of April, 1846, in Delmar Township, 
Tioga County, Pennsylvania. My father was a widower 
when he married my mother by which circumstance I had 
a half sister and three half brothers. He was a small farmer 
on a fifty-acre farm and his best crop was children — not in 
quality perhaps, but quantity, at least the neighbors thought 
there was enough of us. We were not bad children, but 
somewhat shiftless, and indifferent to the opinion of the 
neighbors. My earliest recollection was being hustled out 
of bed early in the morning by my half brothers to see 
Santa Claus as he galloped over the brow of the hill in his 
sleigh behind his reindeers in a scud of blinding, flying 
snow. I thought I could see him and hear the bells on the 
reindeers. The others said they could see him and hear 
the bells jingling. They pointed him out to me and I saw 
or was persuaded to see him. Afterwards I had some doubt 
whether I did see him. We often see things through the 
influence and insistence of others that we cannot see when 
they are not with us. Santa did not bring me much that 
Christmas morning, two round bullseye candies and some 
doughnuts in the shape of elephants and horses. But that 
was as rriuch as the others got, and it was enough. We 
were as happy and proud of Santa's gifts as any children 
could be, and had no doubt of the existence of Santa Claus. 
The doughnuts looked somewhat like a horse, and we had 



never seen an elephant. The next thing that I recall is a 
slight punishment for Sabbath breaking. My father and 
mother were very pious God-fearing people and worshipped 
at the Schoolhouse Meetings, regardless of the denomina- 
tion of the preacher. My birthday came on Sunday and it 
was thought by the other boys that something should be 
done to celebrate it, so I was provided with pole, line, 
hook, and bait, and caught a fine trout out of the brook 
running through the farm. When I took it home in great 
glee to show what I had done I was brought face to face, 
for the first time, with the enormity of Sabbath desecration. 
It was a very serious matter, and my father and mother held 
consultation over it. Finally, I was sentenced to remain 
in the house all the balance of the day. It made a great 
impression on me, which I have never outgrown. I am a 
fisherman. I love the sport and have fished all of my life, 
more or less, but I have never fished on Sunday since my 
birthday fishing and its punishment. I have done a great 
many worse things than to fish on Sunday, I have no doubt, 
but I have not done them on Sunday. I could never bring 
myself to play cards nor any other game on Sunday. While 
I am not prepared to say that it is wrong when not done 
in public, yet my father and mother believed it to be wrong, 
and they were honest God-fearing people who not only had 
my love and veneration, but my respect. Things began to 
happen then that I recall very vividly. I shall not relate 
them all, but only those that impressed me most profoundly. 
Some two hundred feet from the house was a well of water 
without any curb or cover over it. My mother, a gentle, 
quiet, sympathetic soul, with more tears than temper, long 
suffering and kind, had a hard time with those overgrown, 
unruly half brothers of mine. There were three of them, 
with about two years difference in their ages, the youngest 



about seven. They were not afraid of my mother, and only 
feared she would tell my father. He was more stern, and his 
most usual eftective argument was a stick or gad. My 
mother was always afraid that I would fall in this uncovered 
well, and she would run up to it and look down, if I was 
out of sight, and did not answer her call. It was corn- 
hoeing time, and warm. My father was in the field. The 
four of us went to the well and they put my straw hat down 
on the top of the water, and we all hid in a big tansy bed 
near the house. Soon my mother came out of the house 
and called us. No answer. I wanted to answer, but there 
Were objections — I had learned that punishment for dis- 
obedience to the boys was more swift and certain than to 
mother. Then she ran up to the well, and seeing my straw 
hat floating on the top of the water, had no doubt but that I 
had fallen in and was drowned. She ran rapidly to the 
house. There was great merriment in the tansy bed, but 
Soon she reappeared with the dinner horn and gave several 
sharp loud blasts. It was only ten o'clock, but the horn 
brought my father hurrying to the house. We saw^ him 
coming on the run. My mother met him — the -merriment 
had ceased in the tansy bed. He heard her rapid explana- 
tion. He threw up his head and gave on loud short call of 
"boys." Instantly four heads like snakes rose up out of the 
tansy bed. He looked at us a moment. The heads were 
hanging low. Nothing was said. There was an old hickory 
stump near, out of which had grown up some straight hick- 
ory sprouts or shoots. He took his jackknife out of his 
pocket and cut and trimmed a hickory sprout about three 
feet long. He was deliberate about it. There was no 
more merriment nor suppressed laughter in the tansy bed ; 
but, soon there was wailing and grief, and many tears. A 

9 



hickory sprout wielded by a strong man makes an im- 
pression on a boy, especially in the summer, when his clothes 
are few and thin. For some time after that there were 
no more tricks played on my mother. 



CHAPTER II. 

My Sister's Marriage. 

My father came from Massachusetts in 1831 with his 
first wife and one daughter. They drove and walked all 
the way with one horse and a light wagon, bringing various 
household goods. They settled on an abandoned fifty acres 
of ground with a log house and some five acres cleared, and 
lived there all of their lives. Three sons and one daughter 
were born there of the first marriage. One of the 
daughters died in infancy. My younger brother and I 
were the only children of the second marriage. I well re- 
member when my half sister was married. There were 
very few neighbors. Most of the land was covered with 
hemlock, pine, beech, hickory, chestnut, oak, maple, iron 
wood and other hardwood timber. Bear, wolves, deer, and 
panthers were occasionally seen. We lived about five miles 
from the nearest village. 

The wedding was like other weddings in that vicinity. 
The bridegroom was a strong, husky, young man. His 
belongings consisted of what clothes he had and a double- 
bitted axe which he could swing with great efYect. But 
my sister was given what was called a setting out — a 
cow, bed and bedding, cook stove, some dishes and cook- 

10 



ing utensils, a few chairs, etc. This was the custom. The 
wedding was simple. An itinerant preacher, who held 
forth on Sundays in schoolhouses, performed the marriage 
ceremony. There was no bridal veil, orange blossoms, 
bridal tour, nor wedding presents. My sister wore her 
best dress which she had made herself. I did not notice 
any change in the apparel of the bridegroom, except that 
he had on a clean new flannel shirt and a new bandanna 
neckerchief. They stood up in the spare room, and the 
preacher performed the service. He did not kiss the bride, 
nor did any one else — kissing was not so customary then. 
1 never saw my father kiss my mother, hold her hand, nor 
show her any endearing attention, although they loved each 
other devotedly. I loved my mother, and she loved me 
with a love that did not die with her, and still lives with 
me, but she never kissed me. The first time I was ever 
kissed was by a neighbor girl while we were gathering 
apples. I did not know what it meant, but I did know 
that it was good, and I wanted more of it. The preacher 
was satisfied with his dinner and fifty cents paid him by the 
bridegroom. Then the bride and groom, she with a little 
bundle, and he with his axe on his shoulder, started on 
foot to their new home, about five miles back in the woods, 
where he had taken up an abandoned claim or tract of sixty 
acres with a few acres chopped over and a one-roomed 
log house. My sister's belongings had been taken out there 
in the morning. That night the customary horning was 
given by the friends of the groom. No wedding was re- 
garded as properly constituted without it. The more popu- 
lar the bridegroom, the larger was the attendance at the 
horning. It commenced just after dark and consisted 
of every kind of noise and racket that could be con- 
trived. Old horns, bells, tin cans, shooting of guns, 

! 11 



cheers, yells, and if rosin and a drygoods box could be 
obtained, the horse fiddle was heard, and when that was 
working nothing else was heard. Powdered rosin on a 
drygoods box, over which is pressed and drawn a fence 
rail, produced a noise more diabolical, infernal and nerve- 
racking, than any other then known, and was regarded 
as the star actor in a successful horning. It was expected 
and welcomed by the wedded pair as a proper tribute to 
them. I have known the bride to complain the next morn- 
ing because the horse fiddle was omitted at the horning. 
This was kept up until midnight, when cider was passed 
out the door in pails with tincups, after partaking of which 
the homers calling good night, went away. Next day 
came the infare at the home of the parents of the bride- 
groom. This was simply a gathering of the relatives of 
the bride and groom, where a dinner was served and the 
horning discussed, and the bride and groom were looked 
over and inventoried and good wishes expressed, after which 
they were expected to jog along in their proper place in the 
community without any further nonsense. I don't know 
how old 1 was at tliis time. I may have been six or seven 
years, but I remember it well. No great preparations were 
made for the wedding. I saw my father return from the 
village with a wooden bucket holding twelve or fourteen 
quarts of brown sugar. This was all that was purchased 
for the occasion. My mother was a splendid cook, and it 
was wonderful to see what she could do with flour, butter, 
and brown sugar. 



12 



CHAPTER III. 

Stone Soup. 

My mother was a good cook. The preachers always 
stopped with us, and nothing pleased my mother better than 
to cook for and feed them. Her stone soup was famous. 
She had a round, smooth stone, about as large as a baseball. 
She would place this in a kettle with water, and boil it, 
adding flour, salt, suet, pepper, onions or garlic, from time 
to time. A few small pieces of fresh meat, sage leaves, 
and other seasoning. After several hours she would take 
the kettle off the fire and we had a fine stone soup. No 
one doubted the contribution which the stone made to the 
soup and it was frequently borrowed by the neighbors. It 
was the only soup stone in the neighborhood. It was 
thought that there was some peculiar composition in the 
stone which added to the flavor of the soup. My mother 
was very proud of it. One neighbor declared that she had 
tried to make soup without the stone, using every other 
ingredient, but the soup was not nearly so good. My father 
used to laugh at the women. He admitted that the stone 
in the kettle made better soup, but not because it added 
anything to the soup, but because the boiling water kept 
the stone moving and constantly stirring the soup. That 
any other stone would produce the same result, my mother 
denied. She would not admit that any other round 
smooth stone, would make just as good soup as hers — and 
there I learned that it is human nature to think that what 
we own is a little bit better than things owned by others. 
I like this. I like to hear men and women claim that their 

13 



children, their horses, and everything they possess, is su- 
perior to others. It is much more agreeable than to hear 
them declare that what they have is worse than others I 
have never just settled, in my own mind, whether my father 
or my mother, was right in their theory of the stone soup. 



CHAPTER IV. 

The Pikery Bottle and Early Remedies and Doctors. 

We lived simply and cheaply, but well. Everything 
was cheap ; whiskey was only three cents a glass, and 
it always stood on the sideboard with the pickery bottle. 
The preachers helped themselves to the whiskey, but rarely 
touched the pikery bottle. A person had to be pretty sick 
to tackle that. It was a dark liquid, made of aloes and a 
little of everything that had a bad taste. It was mixed on the 
theory that the hair of the dog cures the bite, and if you 
had a pain and took a dose of it, you soon had a worse pain 
in front which discounted all others. I remember it well. 
It was a tall bottle with a wooden stopper in it and a string, 
one end of which was tied around the top of the stopper 
and the other around the neck of the bottle. My father 
and mother and the neighbors had great faith in it, but all 
the chikhcn hated it. I have often concealed and denied 
illness rather than face the pikery bottle. Doctors were few 
and far away, and housewife remedies were used with usual 
good results. My mother was a good nurse and doctor. 
She gathered each summer boneset leaves, sage leaves, rhu- 
barb roots, lobelia, tansy, blue vervine and many other 

14 



herbs which she knew when to give. In extreme cases 
the famous "hemlock sweat" was administered. There 
was a large kettle of boiling water into which hemlock 
leaves were placed and the patient sat over it with blankets 
drawn about in such a way that the steam and evapora- 
tions from the boiling leaves could not escape. A violent 
sweat resulted and was generally sufficient to break up a 
l^ad cold and put one in a normal condition. If the pikery, 
liemlock sweat, and other remedies failed, then a doctor 
must be fetched from the village. The roads were bad in 
spring and winter and the doctors covered a wide territory, 
and they were not much more successful in their practice 
than our mothers. Any one could set up as a doctor with- 
out college or office training, and many did so. There were 
two schools, allopathy and homoeopathy, and opinion ran 
high among the people as to which was the best. Disputes 
grew furious, and sometimes people who knew nothing 
at all about the theory or merits of either school, came to 
blows. These disputes were frequently fostered and fed by 
the doctors themselves. But the doctors that kept their 
mouths shut and did not talk much, generally were regarded 
as the best. One homeopathic doctor who never talked 
much obtained a large practice. He would shake his head or 
nod over his patients and never say whether death or re- 
covery would result, but he possessed a rare natural sym- 
pathy and always attended the funeral of his patients. This 
took much of his time, but he was always on hand, and the 
people thought highly of him. He knew the merits of acon- 
ite and belladona, and this was really all the medicine that 
he ever gave, and all that he knew anything about. He was 
supposed to be a very learned man. He was an agreeable 
conversationalist because he always listened, with looks 

IS 



and nods of approval and never said much. One day he 
made a fatal mistake. 

He had a call ten miles away and wrote on a slate 
and hung it on his office door: "Gon too Pin Crick, bak 
too nite." One of his allopathic competitors saw it and 
spread the news, and before the doctor got back half the 
town had read it. That ruined his practice. The people 
could not forgive poor spelling. Those were days of spell- 
ing schools or spelling matches, when there were famous 
spellers in the land, and men and women would stand up 
in rows and spell each other down, and like Jeems Phillips 
in the Hoozier Schoolmaster, there were men and women 
who, without much education could spell correctly nearly 
every word pronounced to them. Inquiry into Doctor John- 
son's former history in the distant village from where he 
came showed that he had been a blacksmith, and getting 
tired of it, he had moved into our village, where he was 
not known, and set up as a doctor. He only had three 
things, silence, sympathy and some knowledge of aconite 
and belladona, which were great assistants. While there 
were good herb remedies given that were generally suf- 
ficient for ordinary colds and troubles, there was much faith 
in foolish and ridiculous remedies., It was generally believed 
that the entrails of a black tomcat bound around the in- 
flamed part was the best and quickest cure for erysipelas. 
Pasture ball tea was believed to bring the measles out to 
the surface. Bleeding was in general practice, and the 
turnkey forceps were used to pull teeth. The neighborhood 
blacksmith bled people and pulled their teeth at a shilling 
an operation. People were bled for being too stout, and 
others for being too thin, and some were bled regularly 
each month to prevent sickness. There was no appendicitis, 
but there were many fatal cases of bowel complaint. Since 

16 



the discovery of appendicitis I have not heard of bowel 
complaint. 

My mother had an eye stone for removing dirt from 
the eye which was in frequent demand in the neighborhood. 
It was a smooth white stone about the shape and size of a 
half pea. Dip it in vinegar and slip it into the eye. It was 
supposed to find the dirt and attach itself to it, and then 
slip out, bringing the dirt with it. We all had great faith 
in it. It would always remove the dirt unless it had become 
fast in the eye. It passed from neighbor to neighbor, and 
generally was in somebody's eye. 



CHAPTER V. 

Matthew Blackwell and Playing Indian. 

We had a long barrelled, smooth bore rifle. It would 
shoot shot or bullets, and we' boys kept it busy. It was 
a notorious kicker. It was a_ mooted question as to which 
end of it was most dangerous. There were squirrels and 
pheasants, and in the summer and fall, many pigeons. I 
have seen a buckwheat field at harvest practically covered 
with them. The snow was deeper and more of it in the 
winter and there was colder weather than now. The pig- 
eons are gone and the deep snows and cold winters. I don't 
know why it is, but I know that it is so. There were brook 
trout in all the streams, where now there are none. A 
family moved into a vacant house which stood in a hollow 
or ravine a short distance from our house. Their name was 
Blackwell. The man was tall and dignified in appearance, 

17 



and very courtly. He had a wife and several children. 
They were poor, but proud and honest. Blackwell was 
sane from April to November, but in the winter months 
he was afflicted with a mild sort of delusion, and imagined 
all sorts of queer things. In his normal hours conversation 
with my father aroujid the old fire place showed a knowl- 
edge of books and men, but when the cold weather came 
on he would do strange things. He had great belief in a 
liniment that he called Apedildock. He carried a bottle of 
it with him and insisted on applying it to every neighbor's 
ailment. He always wore a Prince Albert coat and a stove- 
pipe hat, well brushed, though much worn, and talked every 
one into silence. Some one gave him an old blind horse 
which had outlived its usefulness, and which its owner was 
too stingy to winter, and too cowardly to shoot. He bought 
for a trifle an old cutter or sleigh, and with bits of leather 
and clothes line rigged up a harness, and started down the 
creek road in December, to cure the world of its ills with 
his Apedildock. While passing along the side hill some 
forty feet above the creek the clothes line rein broke, and 
pulling suddenly on the line towards the creek, the old 
blind horse went over the side, and horse, cutter and Black- 
well, went end over end, down the hill to the bottom of the 
ravine. The cutter was smashed, the horses' neck broken, 
but Blackwell and his bottle of Apedildock escaped un- 
harmed. He built a fire on the bank of the creek and pro- 
posed to bring the dead horse to life by the administration 
of Apedildock. He named the day and hour when the 
miracle was to be performed, and the people living near 
came to see it. The stream was frozen and the horse also, 
but the old man went through his rites rubbing the frozen 
horse with the liniment and murmuring strange words. But 
the miracle was not performed, and Blackwell with much re- 

18 



luctance, was led away by the kind-hearted people and cared 
for. In the spring, when the snow was gone and the wild 
flowers came and the bobwhites and whippoorwills were 
singing in the fields, it was hard to stay in the house nights, 
and the mischievous boys would gather at the corners just 
above old man Blackwell's house. It amused them to throw 
a few stones down onto the roof of his house. He would 
come out and in loud tones rebuke them and swear. One 
night my older half brothers stole quietly away and I fol- 
lowed them. They discovered me and sent me home with a 
pair of long-legged boots which one of them removed, think- 
ing they would be cumbersome for fast running. But I 
slipped along after them quietly. They met some neighbor 
boys at the corners and going down the hill road began 
to throw stones down on the roof of Blackwell's house. 
They expected him to come out and rant and swear as 
usual. But they had delayed too long. The spring was 
too far advanced. Blackwell had become normal, on that 
night, at least, he had a lucid interval. Instead of storm- 
ing and swearing he took a stick and quietly slipped along 
the fence, unseen by them, and before they knew it he 
was among them. They ran up the hill and I, not knowing 
the cause, started out of the fence corner where I was hid, 
and took after them. I was the only one that Blackwell 
caught. I had not thrown a stone, but that made no differ- 
ence. I was caught running. The stick fortunately was not 
a heavy one. It was a thin piece of dry wood, and it 
soon broke in pieces, and then he took me by the arm and 
escorted me home. My father responded to his knock, and 
opened the door. Our boys had gone up a ladder, and got 
in at the chamber window, and tossed the ladder down 
into a bed of pie plant and were in bed, and apparently 
asleep, as evidenced by loud snores upstairs. Blackwell 

19 



told his story. When my father asked me if our boys were 
there, I knew better than to admit it, and stoutly denied 
it, telling him they were Tyler's boys, neighbor boys, quite 
as bad as ours. As Blackwell did not know who they 
were, my tale might have been believed, but my father rec- 
ognized the boots which I had been sent back with, and 
which I still carried, one in each hand. They were all 
snoring loudly upstairs. He said nothing, but took down 
from a shelf, where it was kept when not in use, a well- 
seasoned hickory gad and hurried upstairs. The boys were 
wakened. The snoring ceased, and Blackwell went home 
satisfied, after listening to the responses of forcible dis- 
cipline, for a few minutes. As I had had mine from Black- 
well, I was told to go to bed. His house was not stoned 
after that. 

After Mathew Blackwell moved away a family moved 
in by the name of Johnson. He was called Honey Jonhson, 
because he once stole a beehive, honey, bees and all, and 
was caught with it. He was not prosecuted for it, but was 
called Honey Johnson until people really thought that was 
his name. They called him Honey to his face without know- 
ing what it meant to him. His wife would call him Honey, 
but from my observances of them, I do not think she 
called him Honey before he stole the bees. If he had been 
a man of sensitive nature that would have been a worse 
punishment than imprisonment, but he was not a man of 
sensitive nature. Far from it. He was a coarse, ignorant 
man, and his family were coarse and very ignorant. He 
worked when he could get work from the farmers, and work 
was hard for him to get, as nearly all of the farmers kept 
bees. He had three boys, ranging from seven to twelve 
years; none of the family could read. Our boys loved the 
dime novel stories of the wild west, and especially tales of 

20 



Indians. They were familiar with many tales of burning at 
the stake, war whoops and scalpings. It was in the fall 
when elderberries were ripe. Johnson's boys and our boys 
were out in the woods where a windfall had made a clear- 
ing and elderbushes grew. We were sitting on the edge of 
this clearing. My oldest brother pulled a novel out of his 
pocket and began to read a harrowing tale about the In- 
dians burning at the stake three boys, taken in a settlement 
raid. The Johnson boys were excited and somewhat 
wrought up. Quietly, one by one, my brothers slipped away. 
In about fifteen minutes there were loud yells and war 
whoops, and my brothers dashed out of the woods upon 
us. The Johnson boys started to run, but were soon over- 
taken, and brought back. 

No wonder they ran. Our boys had stained their feet, 
legs, hands, faces and necks with elderberry juice and stuck 
feathers, dropped by flying birds, in their caps. They were 
Indians. They tied their victims to small trees with strips 
of leatherwood bark and began to gather limbs and sticks 
in front of them for a fire. The prisoners believed that their 
captors were Indians. They had seized and tied me up 
to a tree, and I was quietly told to cry and take on, which I 
did, and four boys wailed and shrieked out their grief. Soon 
the fires were kindled amid the shrieks and groans of the 
victims, our boys dancing around howling and whooping 
their loudest. It was great fun for them. They had not 
thought of a rescue. They did not suppose that Deerslayer 
or any of Coopers heroes were around, but there were res- 
cuers. There had been too much yelling, which, with the 
smoke, brought help. My father was working in the field 
not far away, and Honey Johnson was helping him. They 
came running into the clearing. They put out the fires and 
cut the strings and liberated the prisoners. Then my father 

21 



cut something else — a young tree, and trimmed it — about 
three feet long, one-half inch at the butt, and tapering to 
a point. Hurried explanations that they intended to put 
the fire out, and were only in fun, were of no avail. As the 
Johnson boys and our boys followed their fathers home, it 
was a question with me, whether our boys had suffered 
more by the whipping than the Johnson boys by their fright, 
but then I reflected that the Johnson boys had had no com- 
pensation, while our boys had had what they thought was 
great fun while it lasted. 



22 



CHAPTER VI. 
Our Home Life. 

We played games, baseball, hornaway, I spy and 
others. Baseball was not played as they play it now. We 
called it sock ball. The catcher or person having the ball 
had to throw it and hit the running batter. The ball was 
as hard as it is now, and sometimes the fellow that was hit 
did not feel like playing ball any more that day. There 
was a neighbor boy of about my age with whom I often 
played. His mother had made soft soap and had put it in 
a barrel in the pantry beside some empty barrels. As it 
was summer time we had on only a shirt and thin trousers 
and were playing I spy. While I was "blinding" he ran 
away to hide and conceived the idea to slip into an empty 
barrel and pull the cover over him. Watching me to see 
if I peeked he slid the cover over and jumped into a barrel, 
the barrel was not empty but full of soft soap. He swal- 
lowed some and was scared and sick. As they had no 
bath tub they put him under the pump and pumped water 
on him. When his clothes were off and he was washed, 
he was as red as scarlet. There was not a bath tub in the 
neighborhood. 

In fact, I never saw nor heard of one, until after the 
Civil War. There were holes and pools in the creeks where 
people used to bathe in the summer time. When a woman 
or girl took a towel and some soap and started towards the 
creek, we boys were expected to stay in the house, or if 
we went out, we were expected to go in the opposite di- 

23 



rection from the creek. In winter they used wash tubs in 
their houses for bath tubs, and some never had a bath ex- 
cept at sheep washing. 

My mother made all of our clothes, including our caps. 
She not only made our clothes, but she made the cloth out 
of which they were made. We had sheep and after they were 
washed and sheared the wool was taken to a carding mill 
near Wellsboro, owned by a man named Jacob Hiltbold, 
where it was carded into long, slim rolls about three feet 
long, and about one-half inch in diameter. These she would 
spin into yarn on the spinning wheel which was to be found 
in every farm house. It was a large wheel turned by hand, 
from four to five feet in diameter with a band or belt around 
it, turning a small spindle of the size of an ordinary lead 
pencil. This yarn was colored in the blue "dye tub. The 
yarn was sent to my Aunt Chloe Howe, who wove it into 
cloth on her loom. My mother had no help except what we 
boys did. She made our clothes, candy and soap.* She was 
a hard-working woman and knit our socks, and my father 
cobbled our boots, of which we each had one pair in a year. 
In the warmer months we went barefoot. Occasionally 
when my mother was sick we had a girl come from one of 
the neighbors to help, but she was more of a guest than a 
hired girl. She sat at the table, and the boys scrapped for 
the privilege of escorting her to spelling schools and other 
neighborhood entertainments. 

The farm furnished us our living. Nothing was pur- 
chased except tea, coffee, salt, pepper, and a buckwheat cake 
riser, called saleratus. We had apples and cider in the cellar, 
and nuts gathered from the forest, chestnuts, hickory nuts, 
butternuts, beechnuts, and during the long winter evenings 
we spent the time before the old-fashioned fire place. We 
boys playing at checkers, fox and geese, or twelve men 

24 



Morris. My father read or cobbled our boots, while my 
mother knitted, or mended our clothes. Occasionally, she 
would sing some Methodist hymn, and then we were all 
silent. She had a sweet, untrained voice, full of natural 
melody. The blows of the hammer grew softer as my father 
drove the pegs into the soles of the boots, and our games . 
ceased. 

Then my father would read a chapter from the old 
Bible, and we had family prayer. He prayed for us all, and 
for everybody else. Then to bed while he covered the wood 
fire with ashes. His custom was to begin at Genesis, and 
read a chapter in the morning and one in the evening, 
straight through to the end of the New Testament, and then 
begin again with Genesis. There was no levity, we had to 
kneel down and remain kneeling until he was through, 
and if a boy went to sleep and had to be wakened up when 
the service was over, it did not matter. Before we got 
into bed we had to kneel down in front of the bed and re- 
peat the Lord's Prayer and "Now I Lay Me Down To 
Sleep," no matter how cold it was. I thus contracted a habit 
of saying these prayers from which I have never been able 
to escape, and I still have it. I believe in prayers. They 
may not always be answered, but it is a great comfort to 
the one who prays, and never did any one any harm. . 



CHAPTER VII. 
Superstition. 



In my early days philosophers, astronomers, psycholo- 
gists, Ernest Renan and Bob Ingersoll, had not disturbed the 
settled conclusions of contented people. One after the other, 

25 



the beliefs of the people were altered. Grandfather Dean 
scouted the idea that the world turned around in the night. 
He proved to me its impossibility by pointing to a big stone 
on the stump of a tree. If the world turned around the stone 
would fail off, he said, but it was always there. It seemed 
conclusive evidence to me at that time. There were many 
people, in our vicinity, who did not believe that the world 
turned around, or that it was round. I remember that the 
selectmen of the township were divided upon the subject, 
some held that the world was flat and did not move. They 
employed the school teachers and examined them and 
passed on their qualifications to teach. My father having 
been a school teacher in Massachusetts, was one of the 
selectmen. I remember hearing him tell about an applicant 
for a school who was examined by the board. One of the 
selectmen asked him whether he taught that the world was 
round or flat. He answered that he was prepared to teach 
either round or flat, as the board desired. But evolution of 
thought and science gradually shattered the beliefs of men. 



CHAPTER VIII. 
Mass Meetings. 



I recall the Presidential Campaign of 1856, Fremont, 
the pathfinder, was the candidate of the new Republican 
Party against Buchanan. The men would often get up long 
before daylight and drive twenty miles to hear David Wil- 
mont speak at a Republican Mass Meeting. Before the 
birth of the Republican Party those who were not Demo- 
crats were Whigs. The Whigs became Republicans. Fre- 

26 



quently the Republicans and Democrats held joint debates. 
First a Republican would speak, and then a Democrat 
would speak. These meetings were generally held in a 
neighboring grove. John Simpson was a great Democratic 
Stump Speaker, while Galusha A. Grow was a noted Re- 
publican Stump Speaker. There was to be a joint debate 
between them at Osceola Grove twenty miles away. Nearly 
everybody went, I with them. Simpson drove over with 
friends and stopped at wayside hotels on the way and 
when he got to the meeting he was drunk. Grow was 
speaking before a great crowd. Simpson was escorted 
to the rough platform, where Grow was speaking, and 
was seated. He went to sleep, and during Grow's speech 
vomited in presence of the audience, and slept through 
Grow's speech. The Democrats were disheartened and dis- 
couraged. Simpson, their ideal, upon whom they had de- 
pended to answer Grow, was drunk. There was no one 
else to reply to Grow. But Grow made the mistake of talk- 
ing too long. Before he finished Simpson had revived. He 
gradually began to show signs of life, and when Grow 
finally concluded amid the cheers of the Republicans, Simp- 
son got up, and after a pause said : "Before I proceed to 
reply to the speech of Mr. Grow, I must first apoligize to 
this splendid audience, for the disgraceful spectacle that 
you have witnessed. No doubt you all thought I was drunk, 
but I was not. I can never listen to a Republican speech 
without becoming so deathly sick that I must vomit." He 
then proceeded to make a splendid speech to the entire sat- 
isfaction of his Democratic hearers. If Grow had closed his 
two hour's speech thirty minutes earlier, there would have 
been no Democratic speech. 



Zl 



CHAPTER IX. 

The Underground Railroad. 

It was between 1856 and 1860 that I discovered that 
our house was an underground railroad station. My father 
was a quiet reserved man and often concealed what he knew 
instead of delighting to tell it. One night in winter I came 
home from school and noticed an air of mystery about my 
mother. I would probably have suspected nothing if she 
had not told me to keep out of the spare room. That 
aroused my curiosity and I slipped outside and saw through 
a hole in the window curtain, a black man and woman 
sitting there. I had never seen a colored person before. 
I asked my mother about it, but only succeeded in getting 
from her a command to keep quiet. But I was watchful. 
That night about 9 o'clock my father took these people away 
in the sleigh. There were no bells on the horses, as usual, 
and no lantern. The next day my father came home. I 
was full of curiosity, and beseeched my mother to explain. 
She finally did so, after pledging me to secrecy. These col- 
ored people were on their way to Canada and freedom. 
They had been brought to our house the night before by 
the keeper of the underground railroad station twenty miles 
south of us, and my father took them to the next station 
twenty miles north. After that escaping slaves at our house 
were frequent. My father was an anti-slavery man. He 
read the New York Tribune and believed in Horace Greely, 
William Lloyd Garrison and Fred Douglas. About this 
time I first read "Uncle Tom's Cabin," by Harriet Beecher 
Stowe, and many a night by the fire light I pored over the 
story ajid wept at the wrongs of Uncle Tom, Eliza, and 
Little Eva. 

28 



CHAPTER X. 

Graveyard Ghosts. 

There was a graveyard on the top of the hill on our 
farm, above our house. All of my relatives are buried there, 
and many of the neighbors. Briers and weeds had grown 
up about the tombstones. I used to pull them away and 
read the epitaphs on the stones. I recall one: "Re- 
member Friend, as You Pass Bye, as You are Now, so 
Once Was I. As I am Now, so You Must Be. Prepare 
to Die and Follow me." I do not remember who was 
buried there, but it does not matter. The epitaphs were 
not usually selected by the deceased, but by surviving 
relatives, and they did not always express the character 
or views of the one who slept beneath them. I early 
became acquainted with ghost stories and have been thrilled 
by their recital by some calling neighbor, around the 
old fire place at night. Night is the only time that a 
ghost story should be told. A ghost story told in the day 
time never has an appreciative audience. There have been 
many good people who have lived and died in the belief 
that they had seen ghosts. My father did not believe in 
them, but my mother would have believed in them if it had 
not been for the influence of my father. I will never forget 
old John Ainsley's ghost story of Richard Duryea. Duryea 
lived alone in a large white house on the Dean road. He 
had been a sailor and was believed to have been a pirate. 
In those days a man's wickedness was estimated by his pro- 
fanity, and by that test, Duryea was a very wicked man. 
He never went to meeting and never mixed with the neigh- 

29 



bors. He had boxes and relics of the sea and his profanity 
was dreadful. He used to be heard singing "Three Dead 
Men and a Bottle of Rum," and another sea song about 
walking the plank. The few preachers who went to see him, 
barely escaped without assault, and from all of this, the 
opinion prevailed, that he, was in league with the devil, and 
he was avoided and shunned by all. But he was taken ill 
and the old woman neighbor who occasionally went to his 
house to rid it up, reported his illness, and old John Ainsley 
and Andrew Kriner went to see about it. They found him 
very ill, and insisted on a doctor, but he would not have 
one. The night he died Ainsley and Kriner were sitting up 
with him. It was a warm June night and they sat in a room 
adjoining his. The door into his room was open, and the 
door opening to the porch was open. They were dozing 
when just as the clock struck twelve, they were startled by 
seeing a black animal with sharp eyes and quite a large 
body and short legs pass, in at the open door, pass through 
their room and into Duryea's room. They heard Duryea 
cry out in great fear. They rushed into his room, meeting 
the animal coming out, but Duryea was dead, Ainsley be- 
lieved that the animal was the devil after old Duryea. 



30 



CHAPTER XL 

Midnight. 

I was very fond of horses, especially a young colt which 
belonged to my father. I called him Midnight, as he was as 
black as night. He was only about five months old, and as 
I took him sugar and petted him he grew fond of me. I 
made him a little harness out of strips of leather, cut from 
old boot legs and moosewood bark, and used to drive him 
about hitched to a little wagon. He was very gentle and 
seemed to enjoy it. I would go to the fence and call him 
and he would always come to me on the run. He undertook 
to jump over a gate one day to get to his mother and fell, 
injuring his back, and for several days he lay on the barn 
floor very sick. I was his devoted nurse. I would help him 
up and hold him, while his mother could nurse him, and 
then I would ease him down, and he would lay and look 
at me with eyes appealing for help, which I could not give. 
He died and I grieved over him as I would over the loss 
of a friend. In fact that was the first grief through death, 
that came to me, and when he was hauled away into the 
woods, I worked with a shovel and dug a grave and buried 
him. I was not much acquainted with services at burials. 
'I was alone in the woods, but I felt that some ceremony 
was required. I had no book, but I knelt down over his 
body and tried to say a prayer. I prayed "Oh ! Lord, if 
there is a Llorse Heaven, let Midnight go to it. I hope there 
is as I want to see Midnight again. Make me as good a boy 
as Midnight was a colt." I had no audience, but a Bluejay 
and Wood Thrush were singing, and I heard a squirrel bark- 

31 



ing a base chorus. Then I shovelled the dirt in, and after- 
ward I set up a slab at the head of the grave with his name, 
birth, and death upon it. Years afterwards I visited the 
spot, but the slab and all indications of the grave were gone. 



CHAPTER XII. 
Boyhood, 



I do not know at what age I ceased to be a child and 
became a boy- Some children never get to be boys, and 
some boys never get to be men. They grow physically, but 
not mentally. Some men never cease to grow mentally until 
old age halts all growth, and they live in reminiscence. I 
was always fond of tricks and mischief, and readily saw the 
humorous side of' things. There were mink and muskrats 
along the creek that ran through our farm, and in winter 
we used to set a box trap for them. A mink's skin was 
worth from one to two dollars; a muskrat's fifty cents. A 
box trap was simply a board box some two and a half feet 
long by nine or ten inches wide and deep, with a lid raised 
to let in the mink. Inside was a stick to which meat was 
attached so that when the mink went in and took the bait 
the lid came down and he was a prisoner. We could not see, 
but by moving the box could tell if there was anything in- 
side. If there was, we would take the box and a dog 
from the creek into the field, and each boy, armed with 
a club, when, slowly raising the lid the mink would run 
out into the deep snow and we would strike at him with 
the clubs, and if we missed him the dog would get him. 

Z2 



Then we clubbed him to death, careful not to break or spoil 
his skin, nor let the dog do it. One morning the trap was 
sprung and we carried it out where the snow was deep, 
and dog and all gathered around. The lid was slowly raised, 
when, instead of a mink, out jumped our old black cat. We 
missed her with the clubs. She clawed the dog's nose and 
made for a tree with her tail as big as a mufif, and that catch 
was a failure. The dog was a friend of mine. I had a har- 
ness for him and a pair of shafts attached to a sled, and used 
to drive him and make him draw me. In this, I sometimes 
failed. I could not make him pull me away from the house, 
but if I would lead him and draw the sled to a distant point 
away from the house, and then turn around, he would draw 
me to the house. One day there had been a rain on deep 
snow, and then a sudden freeze which caused a hard, icy 
crust. I got the dog and sled to the top of the hill, then got 
on the sled and started him down the hill. The crust was 
like ice. The sled outran the dog, and soon he was drag- 
ging behind on his back, giving out howls of pain. I could 
no stop the sled and we went on to the bottom and far 
beyond ; when we stopped and the dog was helped up, 
he was greatly frightened, and had lost much hair in his 
rapid ride down the hill. 

My sister was living some five miles away, and I fre- 
quently visited her. She was always kind to me. There 
were several families living about her, and they visited each 
other and were friends and neighbors. One day she had a 
quilting party. The neighboring women came in the after- 
noon, and they worked at a big patch c[uilt spread on quilt- 
ing poles. At night their husbands would come, and all 
stayed to dinner. I went out into the woods and found a 
half-grown woodchuck. I cut some moosewood bark and 
tied it around him just back of his shoulders and was able to 

33 



lead him or draw him. I did not want to kill him, and was 
trying to think what to do with him, when I thought of the 
quilting party. Women, then, as now, were afraid of small 
animals that seek hiding places when frightened. I knew 
those women were all seated in the one room. The chim- 
ney to the fireplace was big enough to let down a much 
larger bundle than the woodchuck, and so I succeeded in 
getting on to the roof of the house with my woodchuck, and 
cutting the moosewood strings, dropped him down the chim- 
ney. I could hear them laughing and talking, when sud- 
denly, every woman screamed and rushed from the house. 
The woodchuck had captured the fort and took refuge under 
the bed. Fortunately it was near quitting time, and the men 
came in and caught the woodchuck, and the women went 
back into the house. I slid down and made my escape and 
at dinner the woodchuck was the chief topic of discussion. 

It was interesting to me to hear the various explana- 
tions as to how the woodchuck got on the top of the house 
and down the chimney. Many theories were advanced. No 
one suspected me as an accomplice. I have often wondered 
why. One man stoutly maintained that a woodchuck could 
not climb a tree, and could not climb a house. Another said 
a log house was easier to climb than a tree. Then they 
drifted into a discussion whether or not a snake could climb 
a tree, and gradually the mystery of how the woodchuck got 
on top of the house was forgotten. I offered no opinion. 
Being a boy, I was supposed to listen in silence to my elders. 

I have told about the graveyard on our farm. It was 
seldom visited unless there was a funeral. One night I had 
been to a neighbors and took a short cut home, coming over 
the hill by the graveyard. It was moonlight. I saw what 
appeared to be a woman standing in the graveyard clothed 
in a long, white garment. I had never seen it before, and 

34 



I ran home, thinking it must be a ghost. Next morning 
I did not mention it for I knew that my father would pooh- 
pooh the idea. But I went back and discovered that the 
wind had blown the bark from a tall hemlock stump. The 
sun and the wind had bleached the wood inside of the bark 
white, and the bark being blown away, showed the white 
wood of the stump. Ever after that I had no belief in 
ghosts, believing that a proper investigation would in all 
cases explain the mystery. I attended the district school 
in summers and winters. The old schoolhouse with its 
great wood stove where we thawed out our ink in the morn- 
ings still dwells in my memory. Mischief was there. I 
recall John Tyler who sat with Clay McCarty on the boy's 
side of the schoolroom. John was a mischievous, fun-lov- 
ing fellow, and one day the school mistress seeing John 
and Clay cutting up in their seats, caught John by the col- 
lar and hauled him up in front of the school and began 
to whip him with a gad or switch. He was laughing and the 
harder she whipped him, the louder he laughed. She finally 
stopped, and said : "Jo^"' what on earth, are you laughing 
at?" John said, "You are lickin' the wrong fellow." It 
seemed to him such a good joke on the teacher. One morn- 
ing in summer time two or three of the worst boys were 
early at school. There was a chipmunk in the schoolroom, 
which they caught and put in the stove. The teacher, 
as usual, read a chapter in the Bible, and then offered a 
little prayer. Then she .gathered the bits of paper and litter 
from her desk in her apron, and squatting down in front 
of the stove, opened the door and flirted the litter into the 
stove. As she opened the door, out sprang the chipmunk, 
leaping over her shoulder. She went over backwards with 
a scream. There was an investigation, but no one knew 
anything about it, and all escaped including the chipmunk. 

35 



That school ma'm was peculiar and came from the village. 
Chauncey Austin who owned the farm around the school- 
house was a school director. So the teacher said that we 
must not go into his meadow to pick strawberries. But there 
were fine strawberries in his meadow and they tempted me. 
I was fearful of the teacher, and finding a beautiful green 
garden snake, I thought to appease her by bringing it to her 
alive, and so when I came into the schoolroom late, and was 
called up to explain why, I presented her with this snake 
and I supposed she would be pleased. It was a beautiful 
snake and perfectly harmless, but she was not pleased. She 
screamed and made me throw it out of the door, and then 
she whipped me for trespassing in Chauncey Austin's 
meadow, and I thought she put it on a little harder, on 
account of the snake. I concluded then, and have never 
changed my mind, that there is no use trying to under- 
stand women at all. I had a full brother three years younger 
than I and we went to the district school together. The 
teacher required every scholar to learn and speak a piece, 
or write a composition. My brother never could do either, 
and through various excuses he avoided this rule until the 
teacher had to enforce it on him. She announced on Mon- 
day morning that if he did not have a piece to speak, or a 
composition written on the following Saturday, she would 
punish him. That meant whipping which was the only 
punishment. My father fully approved the teacher's course, 
and there was nothing for my brother to do, but write a 
composition, learn a poem, or something in prose, or take a 
whipping. He started in to learn that poem which begins 
"On Linden when the Sun was low," etc., and had it almost 
committed. We had a queer, overgrown, abnormal pup. 
On Saturday morning my brother was diligently studying 
the poem which he had cut it out of a newspaper, and was 

36 



holding it in his hand. Suddenly the pup, without any inti- 
mation of his intentions, opened his mouth and swallowed 
the clipping-. We had to start for school. Which was a mile 
away, and we arrived at the schoolhouse a little late. The 
teacher called by brother to recite, or read a composition. 
He got up and undertook to tell the teacher that he had 
nearly committed "On Linden when the Sun was Low," 
but had lost it, and now could not remember any of it. The 
teacher asked how he came to lose it and he said the dog 
swallowed it but she did not believe him. He said that I saw 
him swallow it and I got up and told the truth, and said I 
saw the dog swallow it. She had never heard or read of dogs 
taking to poetry, although she knew something of doggerel 
from the crude poetic effusions sent by her admirers. She 
whipped him for not having a recitation or composition, 
and she whipped me for lying. It was hard to bear, for 
we were both innocent, as we believed, but we said nothing 
about it at home, for fear we would be punished again, and 
we had doubt as to just how to diagnose the situation. 



2>7 



CHAPTER XIII. 

Spiritualism. 

About this time came the so-called Rochester Knock- 
ings. There was much in the papers about it. Rappings 
jwere heard and so-called mediums pretended to open con- 
versation between living and dead people. Mrs. Tyler, one 
of our neighbors, an ignorant woman, set up for a medium 
and pretended that she could bring forth the spirits of dead 
relatives. My father denounced the matter as ridiculous. 
One night at home we all put our hands on a small wooden 
table and held them there for quite a while, and then taking 
our hands off, the table moved quite briskly for a few 
seconds when no one touched it, and thus he convinced us 
that there was nothing in spiritualism. I can't see why 
we should believe a demonstration supernatural, simply be- 
cause we cannot account for it. Time and science unravel 
and explain mysteries, and it is presuming and highly ego- 
tistical to think that because we do not understand a dem- 
onstration that it must be supernatural. I know that my 
mother loved me and is now watching over me. If there is 
a Heaven she is in it. In times of doubt and temptation if 
she could come to me and advise me she would come. It 
is wholly unnecessary for me to pay fifty cents to a long- 
nailed, watery-eyed, long-haired squaw man to get into 
communication with her. So, I have never believed in 
spiritualism, and consequentl}^ have never seen or heard 
any spirits. Only those who hunt after spirits find them. 
I admit that many strange things have happened, but why 
think them supernatural, simply because we in our ignor- 

38 



ance, do not understand them. The telephone, wireless tele- 
graphy, and other discoveries ought to convince us that 
there will come a time when all mysteries will be scien- 
tifically explained. 



CHAPTER XIV. 
Camp Meeting. 



There was no church building in our neighborhood. 
Religious services were held in the schoolhouse a mile away, 
except in the summer time when Camp Meetings were held 
in the woods. The preachers were itinerants, generally 
old men, who had no special circuit or charge assigned 
them by any church or conference, and were generally 
Methodists. There was no denominational organization in 
our neighborhood, and preachers and audience were not 
sectarian. Most all of the preachers were exhorters and 
revivalists. There was no doubt in their minds about 
an actual hell with a great lake of melted brimstone always 
burning with fire. I have heard it described many times. 
This lake of fire and brimstone was an essential factor in 
every revival. It was most potent at Camp Meetings in 
the summer time. In the extreme cold weather of winter 
the people were not so much afraid of hell. Some of them 
who had hard work to keep warm were slightly inclined to- 
wards hell, but in the summer time when the days and 
nights were hot, it was easy to preach one into a dread 
of hell. The Camp Meetings were popular and regularly 
held each summer in McCarter's woods near the school- 

39 



house. There were usually four or five Methodist preach- 
ers in attendance. The people would all attend that lived 
in the neighborhood and many would come from a distance 
and remain all night and while the Camp Meetings contin- 
ued. A few had tents, others had blankets and sheets 
stretched over poles. There were a few rough log huts 
erected by some of the more zealous. There was a preach- 
er's cabin or log house. But many slept under the trees 
without any covering. They did not mind it if it rained 
and they got wet. It was a popular belief that you should 
wear your wet clothes until they got dry, and that you were 
liable to take cold if you changed them, and then at that 
time of year they did not wear so many clothes as in winter, 
and it did not take them so long to dry. Then there was 
the place occupied by the preachers during the service. This 
was a platform of loose boards some two feet higher than 
the ground and covered by tent cloth or boards. Three 
sides were closed, with the front open and a bench or table 
stood on the front end of the platform. Outside in front was 
the audience, some seated on chairs and benches, and some 
on the ground. The singers were ranged in front generally 
on the right of the preachers, on seats that were provided for 
them. Some of these preachers were successful exhorters, 
and their appeals were affecting and effective. Their pic- 
turs of Hell and Heaven were masterly, and brought many 
persons to the anxious seat to confess their sins and obtain 
forgiveness. These meetings did much good. Many per- 
sons were converted and most of them remained converted 
and lived better lives afterwards. There was no church bell 
to bring the audience together, but a large boat horn was 
used. It was about three and a half feet long, very small 
at one end, and about three inches across at the other. A 
person skilled in its use could make a noise on it that could 

40 



be heard a great distance. They were used on canal boats 
which was the usual public conveyance for long journeys 
in many parts of the country. The preacher, Elder Beebe, 
whose duty it was to blow this horn at the Camp Meeting 
in 1855, was especially fitted for the task. He had great 
lung power and was very tall, fat and heavy. One evening 
service when the meeting was a week old and there had 
been many converts Elder Beebe stood up before a large 
audience and blew his horn. A mischievous scamp had 
gotten the horn and placed in the big end a quantity of thin 
soft soap, putting a weak paper over the big end and tying 
it lightly with a small thread. Instead of the usual loud 
blast that set sinners quaking with fear, there was a smoth- 
ered sort of a sputter and all those sitting on the front 
rows of seats got a baptism of soft soap in their eyes, faces 
and hair. There was a panic, as no one knew just what 
had happened, and some time was required to wash off the 
soap. No one knew who had done it. The preachers were 
loud and emphatic in their condemnation of the wicked 
miscreant who had soaped the horn. None were more violent 
in condemnation than Elder Beebe, who thought it a most 
heinous crime. A few nights afterwards when the services 
were over and the penitents were groaning on the anxious 
seats Elder Beebe found a man who was suffering deeply 
with remorse and groaning in anguish. The elder put his 
great big hand on the man's shoulder and said, "What is 
it, my brother?" The man groaned the louder. "Have you 
stolen something," said the Elder. "Oh, worse than 
that," was the response. "Have you committed forgery?" 
"Worse than that," was the reply. "Have you com- 
mitted murder?" "Oh, worse than that," said the man. 
Elder Beebe took oft" his coat and handed it to an- 
other preacher, saying, "Here brother, hold my coat, 

41 



r have found the man that soaped the horn." A confession 
of sin meant something more than holding up the hand. It 
meant that you had to stand up before your neighbors and 
tell the sins that you had committed, not all of them, but 
the ones that were pressing upon you the hardest. The 
Lord, through the preacher, forgave, and then if the sin 
was against another, he or she forgave, not daring to be 
less forgiving than the Lord. I remember hearing a neigh- 
bor, Amos Tyler, say one morning when he was told that 
Hark Furman had confessed his sins the night before, "I 
wish I had been there, I would have found out who stole 
my horse." You could question the sinner at his confession. 
These preachers were nearly all good men and lived the 
lives they preached. They did much to educate and civi- 
lize the country. Old Father Sheardown preached in our 
jieighborhood on several occasions. He was a most noted 
evangelist and believed in an actual hell. They did not 
cavil or dispute about it with educated men. The Bible 
told them there was a hell, and that was enough for them. 
They could not see the need of a Heaven without a hell, 
and to give up their belief in one meant to give up their 
belief in both. They preached that there never was discov- 
ered a tribe or nation or race that did not have a religion 
or future belief, and in all of them were future rewards and 
punishments. They judged the plans of the Creator for 
the future by a study of his plans seen in this life. They 
saw in all of his plans here, a penalty for every violation 
of his laws. They saw no remission of these penalties. 
They came as a natural consequence of violated law. They 
said a man may study the works of great painters and ar- 
chitects until they can tell their work without knowing 
whose it is, and a study of natural laws made by God gives 
no assurance or ground of belief that they will be different 

42 



in plan in future life than they are in the present life. They 
believed that there could be no great natural desire to go to 
Heaven except to escape hell, and that as God never did a 
vain and foolish thing, and it would be vain and foolish to 
create a Heaven without a hell. That if there is a future life 
to us we must have memory of our life and history here, and 
that as many die in their sins without repentance and for- 
giveness, a future punishment is not only natural, but nec- 
essary for conformance to and with every act of the Cre- 
ator as disclosed to us in this life. This kind of doctrine 
converts men and women and creates revivals. In fact, 
it is the only doctrine, preached that has ever brought about 
a revival. They did not go about apologizing for the say- 
ings in the Bible. They believed and enforced their belief 
upon others. If Sunday and Stough, and the other Evan- 
gelists would stop preaching hell, their congregation would 
diminish and revivals and conversions would cease. Our 
preachers did a foolish and impolitic thing when Robert 
G. Ingersoll ridiculed and frightened them into doubts 
about hell, so that they stopped preaching it. We might as 
well strike the penalties out of our penal code as to try 
by persuasion alone, to reform people. I believe that fear 
of punishment wields a great influence in preventing sin and 
crime. 



43 



CHAPTER XV. 

Baptism by Immersion. 

There were many Baptists in the Community but I 
never made any examination of the difference between their 
creed and that of the Methodists. It was generally believed 
that sprinkling and immersion was the only difference. I 
presume I would have been a Baptist if it had not been for 
one incident. I had a cousin two years older than myself. 
He "experienced religion," as it was called, at a revival, 
conducted by a Baptist preacher in the schoolhouse. I 
stayed at his house one night when his experience was 
new to him. We slept together and he talked to me and 
prayed over me until I got it too. That is, I felt a sort of 
strange, new peace and happiness never felt before. At that 
time I was ten years old and I went home and told my 
mother that I wanted to be baptized with my cousin. She 
told my father and my brothers heard them talking about it. 
After my father left the house, we boys all wandered into the 
field back of the barn where the sheep dam was. The 
water was about four feet deep and very cold. My oldest 
brother had the horse book with him and said that he 
understood that I wanted to be baptized. I did not an- 
swer, so they all gathered about me. A chapter on how 
to doctor a sick horse was read, and then I was let out 
into the sheep dam and baptized, not sprinkled, but im- 
mersed, not once, but several times, and they were de- 
liberate about pulling me up. I was then informed that if 
I told about it, the ceremony would be repeated more thor- 
oughly. I went home, with an excuse that I had fallen in 

44 



the creek. Next morning when my mother asked me about 
being baptised, I informed her that I had changed my 
mind and that when I was baptised I would be sprinkled, 
not immersed. My cousin Wesley Howe was baptised. 
An epidemic of diphtheria soon afterwards prevailed in the 
neighborhood, and he with his younger brother Oliver, 
died of it. In nearly every family where there were chil- 
dren, one or more died from this scourge, and in some 
families three and four died. Those that recovered were for 
months afterwards unable to walk. I had a bad attack, and 
would have died, had it not been for the skill of our family 
physician, Dr. N. Packer. My throat was filled with a pois- 
onous membrane so I was kept stimulated with whiskey, 
which counteracted the poison. For a long time after I 
was able to go out, I had to hobble about with a cane. 
Antitoxin was unknown then, and the disease was gen- 
erally fatal. 



45 



CHAPTER XVI. 

Called Preachers. 

Asa Dodge was quite a succesful Baptist exhorter. He 
had no education, read very badly, and could scarcely do 
more with a pen than sign his name. He would stand up 
before an audience and tell how the Lord called him to 
preach. He believed it, and had an earnest way of telling 
it, that made his audience believe it. His story was that 
when he was a young man he was sick with fever and 
had been given up to die. He had been very wicked and 
expected to die and go straight to hell, and as he was gasp- 
ing for breath, the Lord called him, saying, "Asa, if I cure 
you, will you preach?" He whispered, "Lord, how can I 
preach, I have no education, and I am a miserable sinner,"' 
when the Lord called again, saying, "Asa, if I cure you, 
will you preach?" His breath grew fainter and fainter. 
He could not see, and had just life enough left to whisper, 
"Yes, Lord, I will try." He grew rapidly better, and when 
he was well, he started out to fill his contract. It was gen- 
erally believed that people were called by the Lord to 
preach, and those who could not claim that they were so 
called, did not impress an audience so favorably. The 
most of them needed such an excuse for preaching, for 
they were generally uneducated and poor speakers, and read 
the Bible with great eflrort, often making blunders. They 
were all called Elders, no matter to what church they be- 
longed. Elder Decker was a very poor reader. He was 
a very tall man, and one night he was reading, or attempt- 
ing to read, a chapter in the Old Testament, holding the 

46 



small fine-print Bible in one hand and a tallow dip in the 
other, high in front of him. He got to the last line on the 
page, reading, "and he took unto himself a wife," when 
the tallow, burning down to his fingers, burned them and 
he dropped the dip. He reached down and picked it up. 
The leaves of the Bible had whipped over into the story 
of the construction of the ark. He knew that he must 
begin at the top of the page and he read, "and he pitched 
her within and without with pitch." There was a suppressed 
titter in the audience, and he realized his mistake, and 
tried to find the place, that he was reading from, when he 
dropped the dip, but could not, and so he went on with the 
service, without attempting to read any more. On another 
occasion, he read, "The Lord shot Job with four balls," for 
the line, "The Lord smote Job with sore boils." He would 
sometimes improvise and guess at the words. It was told 
of him that on one occasion he read, "The Angel came down 
from Heaven, took a live colt by the tail and jerked him 
out of his halter," for "The Angel came down from Heaven 
and took a live coal and placed it on the altar." But Elder 
Decker was much respected. He led an honest, exemplary 
life, and his influence was always for good. 

Robert Kelsey was another "called preacher." He stut- 
tered and stammered badly. He was not called until he 
reached middle life, and at the time was a farmer on the out- 
skirts of the village of Wellsboro. On two or three mornings 
when he was in the barn attending to his stock in the spring 
of the year, and the haymow was fed down low so that the 
cracks of the barn admitted sound and light, he heard a 
voice saying, "Robert, Ivobert, I am calling you. Will you, 
oh, will you, Robert?" He was a stout Baptist and be- 
lieved that he had heard a call from the Lord to preach. 
His father-in-law, Mr. Trull, was also a Baptist, and very 

47 



religious, so they consulted about it. They thought it was 
a call from the Lord, but what did it mean? 'They had 
never heard of the Lord calling upon anybody except to 
preach. Several preachers had been called. None of them 
stuttered, but Kelsey had a better education than the most 
of them. They thought that the Lord would help him to 
speak, and so Robert Kelsey started out to preach. The 
meeting was announced by the school teacher and Robert 
was on hand, as was also a good audience who knew him. 
The Lord did not help him any, but he persevered and tried 
to preach at other meetings. The audience was quiet and 
respectful. They believed that the Lord called people 
to preach, but why call Kelsey? Finally, the calling of 
Robert Kelsey all came out. Old Ann Simmons lived in a 
little house near Kelsey's barn. In the spring her cow had 
a calf, and Ann had with a few boards and rails built a lit- 
tle leanto or shed against Kelsey's barn, to break the wind 
for the calf. In appreciation of her neighbor she had named 
it Robert. She had taught it to drink out of a pail, and 
while restraining its zeal and efforts to put both fore-feet in 
the pail with his head, she would talk to him, calling him 
by the name she had given him. It was her voice that Kel- 
sey heard. He did not know she was there, or that the 
calf was there. She sold the calf soon after he heard the 
voice, and removed the boards and rails. When this story 
came out Robert stopped preaching. 

There was a schoolhouse, by this time, in my sister's 
neighborhood. Elder Avery Kennedy had moved on to a 
farm there with his family which consisted of five or six 
boys and as many girls. He was a small, old man, very 
thin and lean and feeble, but he was a famous exhorter, and 
preached in the schoolhouse. I have seen him wrapped in 



48 



a quilt brought to the service in a wagon. They would 
help him out with the aid of a chair, and then lead him into 
the schoolhouse. He would sink down into his seat behind 
the big pulpit desk very much exhausted. He was ema- 
ciated, and could not have weighed over one hundred 
pounds. 

He would slowly get to his feet, lay the book down upon 
the desk, and holding to the desk with one hand, would 
slowly read in a halting, small, feeble voice. Then he would 
pray and announce the hymn. The singing was hearty and 
zealous and some of them sang well and their voices were 
full of melody. Then the preacher would take his text, 
announcing it with much solemnity. When he began his 
sermon he could hardly be heard, so low and weak was his 
voice, but as he proceeded his voice grew stronger and 
louder and he began to make gestures. He would move 
about in the pulpit with firm steps, and at the middle of his 
sermon you could hear him at a considerable distance from 
the building, and one could hardly believe that it was the 
same man who was helped into the pulpit. Finally, he 
would slow down, and at the close of his sermon he would 
ask some brother to pray, then he would sink back into his 
seat to be carried out and bundled up in his quilt when the 
service was over. I could not understand it. I do not 
understand it now. The believers thought that he was 
filled with the power of the Holy Ghost. May be he was 
— who knows? They had no doubt that he was called. He 

lived and died an honest, sincere man, setting an example 

« 

that was beneficial to all. 

There were skunks about, but there was only one mar- 
ket for them. Old Tommy Horten, who lived a half mile 
away, was afflicted with rheumatism and believed that 
skunk oil was the best remedy for his complaint and used 

49 



to pay twenty-five cents for a dead skunk. Occasion- 
ally, we would catch one in a trap, set for some other ani- 
mal. We would shoot it or kill it with long poles, keeping 
well out of range of its fire, and far enough from it to pre- 
vent contact. Then we would get a moosewood bark string 
fast to it and drag it over to old Tommy, and get our twenty- 
five cents. He would try out the oil himself. He did 
not have many visitors, and the calls upon him were brief. 
You could locate his house a long distance away in the 
darkest night. No one ever went there unless he had a 
bad cold in his head and a strong stomach. He lived alone 
and Avhen he died, the funeral was only attended by his 
nearest relatives. The services were very brief. They dug 
his grave deeper than usual, and after he was lowered in 
the grave, it was rapidly filled in with dirt. 

We had neighbors named Wills. Mrs. Wills was pe- 
culiar, and said and did many things, that caused talk in 
the neighborhood. She washed the dishes in the trough 
after they had scalded the hogs in it on butchering day. I 
was there one morning just after they had been to break- 
fast. Her son Bill had caught a rat in a trap the night be- 
fore. It was winter and pans of milk were on shelves in 
the living room to keep from freezing. Bill had hold of 
the dead rat's tail, and was swinging it in the air when 
the skin slipped oft" the end of the tail and the rat landed in 
a pan of milk. Mrs. Wills was angry. She said to Bill, 
"Now, see what you have done. I have got to strain that 
milk over again," which she proceeded to do, putting the 
pan of milk back in its place. 



50 



CHAPTER XVII. 

Father McGovern. 

Father McGovern was a kind soul. He was much 
loved by protestants, as well as catholics. His church and 
parsonage were near a saloon, kept by Jimmie Reardon. 
One old Irish catholic, Dan McDade, attending mass one 
afternoon, had in his pocket loose a five-dollar gold piece 
and a copper two-cent piece, and when the plate was passed 
around he put the two-cent piece in it, or thought he did. 
It v/as dark in the church. After the service was over Dan 
went into Jimmie Reardon's saloon, and planking his five- 
dollar gold piece down on the bar, told Jimmie to give him 
some of the rare old stuff. Jimmie looked at the coin, say- 
ing, "You can't buy a drink with two cents;" "What?" 
said Dan, "Oh!" he said, as he saw the coin, "Oh! my! 
Oh 1 my ! I gave the Lord the wrong piece. Oh ! my ! what 
will I do?" Jimmie said. "Go over to Father McGovern 
and explain it. He will know that you never intended to 
put five dollars on the plate, and as there will be only one 
five-dollar piece on the plate he will give it up to you, 
and take your two cents." "Oh !" says Dan, "I must do 
that, but, Jimmie won't it bring bad luck to take back 
anything given to the Lord?" "But," says Jimmie, "You 
know that you did not intend to give it. It was a mistake. 
Father McGovern will understand." "Oh ! well, I will," 
says Dan, and started across the street to the church mut- 
tering to himself, "Bad luck," "I don't like it. I am 
afraid." When half-way to the parsonage he stopped, pro- 
voked and disgusted, at his mistake, and turned about, say- 

51 



ing, "I gave it to the Lord, let him keep it. To hell with 
it." Jimmie trusted him with a drink of the rare old stuff, 
and Dan went home to explain to his wife. Father McGov- 
ern was full of kindness, sympathy, and charity. He would 
have given Dan back his gold piece and assured him that 
the Lord would not hold it against him. Father McGovern 
loved to do quiet, charitable things, without letting it be 
known who the giver was. One day as he was walking 
along the street, he saw a little girl poking among the leaves 
and crying. He stopped and asked her why she was cry- 
ing. She told him through her sobs, that she had been to 
the store to get something and received a dime in change, 
and had dropped it, she thought, in the leaves. The good 
father got down on his knees and tried to help the child 
find it. He knew her family was very poor, and would 
sadly miss the dime. He had one in his pocket, but if he 
gave it to her, that would not excuse her offense of care- 
lessness at home, and she might be punished if she did not 
return and find the dime. After poking among the leaves 
for sometime, he managed to slip the dime from his pocket 
into the leaves where the girl was looking, and she found 
it, and the father was well repaid to see a sobbing, grieving 
child turned into a happy one, as she said, "Now, Father, I 
won't have to tell about losing it, will I?" "No, my daugh- 
ter, God knows it, and your mother has suffered no loss, but 
you must not be so careless again." She assured him she 
would not and ran home, glad of heart. 



52 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

Johnny Smoker. 

As I recall this period of my life, there seems to be 
little worth relating. I worked for the neighbors, as did 
my brothers, when we could get work in the summers, and 
in the winters at cutting and peeling logs in the woods. I 
got only boys' wages, but I was tall and strong and could 
do a man's work when quite young. Some of us were al- 
ways at home helping my father. The farm was small 
and he did not need' all of us, but we always had a welcome 
home whenever we came back. 

One old Dutch neighbor lived alone on a small farm 
of twenty acres. He kept a horse, a cow, and a dog. We 
called him Johnny Smoker. I don't remember his real name. 
He was noted for odd remarks. One fall a revival took 
place in the schoolhouse. Johnny did not attend the meet- 
ings, but some of his neighbors who were interested, warned 
him that if he did not repent of his sins, hell was sure for 
him. Johnny did not know of any sins that he had com- 
mitted. He was honest, harmed no one, but he seemed 
to accept the statement that when he died, he would go to 
hell. One evening after he had plowed all day in a cold 
and drizzling rain, he put up his horse and came into his 
house wet and cold, and raked down his fire in the fireplace. 
The dog lay asleep on the warm hearth. As he sat with 
his hands spread towards the fire looking at the dog, he 
said, "Why was not I a dog?" "The dog runs and plays 
when it is warm and the sun shines. He barks at the birds 
and is happy, and when it rains he comes into the house and 

S3 



sleeps on the warm hearth. He has no work, no trouble, 
no debts, no taxes, and when he dies, he is dead. That is 
the end of the dog. But I have to work hard. I have to 
pay my debts and my taxes, I have no play, no rest, and 
then when I die I got to go to hell, yet." 

Frequently we used to change work. We would all 
go to a neighbors and help him in corn or potato hoeing, 
or haying, or corn husking, and he would come to us and 
help us an equal number of days with his boys. One neigh- 
bor with whom we frequently exchanged work was old John 
Francis. He had many sons, Robert, John, Ephriam, Wil- 
liam, James, and Norman, and one more whose name I 
cannot recall. They were full of tricks and mischief, and 
had to be disciplined with the rod frequently. One even- 
ing old John and his wife were at our house. The boys were 
at home and it was winter time. They had an old-fashioned 
fireplace with a stone hearth which was cracked in many 
places and at night crickets would run over the hearth and 
chirp if it was quiet. There was no one at home but the boys, 
and one of them suggested that they blow up the crickets. 
They took down the powder horn and placed a small row 
of powder around the hearth and placed little crumbs of 
bread along on the powder. Then they all got into a cor- 
ner, and one standing around behind the chimney jam, 
took the tongs and picked up a coal of fire and was going 
to connect it with the powder, when they heard their father 
and mother at the door. The coal was dropped about an 
inch from the powder, when in stamped the old folks. The 
boys had delayed their experiment too long. They held 
their breath, while the old man and woman pulled up their 
chairs in front of the fire. The crickets were feeding on 
the bread. The light was dim. The old man's chair post 
was just in front of the coal. If only he would not shove 

54 



back his chair until the fire in the coal went out, but he 
shoved back his chair while there was still fire in the coal. 
There was a sharp explosion and the old man and woman 
made rapid revolutions in the air. They got up somewhat 
frightened, but not hurt. Without a word, the old man took 
down the rod. There was suddenly much chirping, but 
it was not the crickets that chirped. 

There was no barber in our vicinity. Each family cut 
its own hair, and the men shaved themselves. The wife 
and mother generally did the hair cutting, which was only 
cut when it got too long. A bowl or tin pail was put over 
the head, and the cutter cut to the rim of the bowl or pail. 
Old Elisha McCarty, who lived near the schoolhouse, was 
a queer, eccentric man, who loved to quarrel with his wife 
and his neighbors. He did not appreciate anyone who would 
not quarrel with him. Fortunately, his wife was equal to 
the occasion, and satisfied his want in this respect. He 
used to cut his own hair ; standing before a mirror, he 
would reach around and with a pair of sheep shears, clip 
ofi: locks of his hair, and then tell that his wife would not 
cut his hair. He did not usually do a good job as his own 
barber, and he loved to blame it on his wife. Of course, 
a person could cut another's hair better than he could cut 
his own. A string was sometimes tied around the head 
and the cutter cut square around to the string. But it did 
not make much difterence. The heads all looked about 
alike. Some men let their hair grow long, just to be eccen- 
tric. My mother cut my father's hair, and also cut the hair 
of all of us boys. I used to think that she was more suc- 
cessful at it than any other person in the neighborhood. 



55 



CHAPTER XIX. 

Local Politics. 

When I was thirteen years old I began to realize that 
the politics of the township centered in my father. I saw 
men coming to our house before the township elections, to 
talk with him. He was the best educated man in the town- 
ship of Delmar, and the best known man. I often heard 
the talk. I noticed that my father rarely committed him- 
self to any man's candidacy. But for two or three nights 
before election he would write out tickets, or ballots, and 
on election day he was there early and passed around 
among the voters, followed by me with his ballots, or tick- 
ets, in my hat. He said little, but pointed to my hat, and 
men would take their tickets from me. His ticket was 
usually elected by a comfortable majority. He held the 
offices of town clerk and treasurer, town assessor, justice 
of the peace, and school director, for years. He was always 
re-elected. There were no laws in those days making of- 
fices incompatible, and he might have held all of the offices 
of the township, and been a Poo-Bah, if he had desired. 
There was no money used to influence voters. I never saw 
or heard of the expenditure of a cent in our township for 
votes. My father did not dispute with any one, the merits 
of candidates. He was a good listener. He simply heard 
all that the candidates had to say, and wrote out his tickets 
for the man that he considered the best qualified for the 
office. He wrote the wills of all the neighbors, and as ex- 
ecutor, administered upon their estates. No one doubted 
his word or disputed his decisions. He was executor of the 

56 



estate of Chauncey Austin. There was a pair of bridles 
in Austin's barn that I very much wanted to see on our 
horses, and so thinking that my father was in charge of 
things, I brought them home and told him about it. I had 
to carry them back and put them just where they were when 
I took them. 

It was approaching the Presidential election of 1860. 
John Brown had made his raid into Virginia and had been 
hung for it. The great debates between Stephen Douglass 
and Abraham Lincoln were eagerly read by my father to 
the listening neighbors. Hugh Young's letters from Kan- 
sas to the New York Tribune were spreading patriotism, 
or rekindling it throughout the land. 



CHAPTER XX. 
The Civil War. 



We were approaching a crisis. The Union was threat- 
ened. The Country was on fire with the issue of slavery 
when Abraham Lincoln was elected President of the United 
States. I remember the cartoons of the railsplitter and the 
roustabout flat boatman. I remember the division of the 
Democrats, their certainty of Lincoln's defeat, the great 
mass meetings of both parties, the steady, strong blows of 
Horace Greeley in his Tribune, the desire to attend the 
political mass meetings, the election of Lincoln, his journey 
to Washington, the riots at Baltimore, and the events that 
led up to his first call of 75,000 volunteers. I remember the 
fall of Fort Sumpter and the withdrawal of southern men 
from the United States' Army to join the Confederacy. I 

57 



was fifteen years old when Lincoln was inaugurated. Two 
of my half-brothers answered Lincoln's call, and became 
members of that famous regiment — The First Pennsylvania 
Bucktails — under General Thomas Kane. I wanted to en- 
list, I was big enough, but not old enough. They were more 
careful about enlistments in the early days of the war. 



CHAPTER XXI. 
Girls. 



I went to school in the winter months and worked on 
the farm in the summer. I had grown up with older half- 
brothers who treated me very much as Joseph's brethern 
treated him. I had never paid the slightest attention to a 
girl. I knew that the least demonstration of this kind would 
subject me to ridicule on the part of my brothers. I was tall 
and husky, and other boys paid attention to girls, and went 
home with them nights from singing schools and spelling 
schools, and I began to realize that it was up to me to 
start out. I was just as anxious about it as any one but I 
was afraid of girls. I was spending the first winter of the 
war witli my sister. There v/as a man teaching singing 
school in the schoolhouse on each Friday night and I went 
occasionally, and observed that after the school was over, 
each girl had an escort or beau to see her home. I was as 
big as any of them, and I began to think that it was ex- 
pected of me to go home with some girl from this singing 
school. I felt it to be my duty. I had never gone home 
with a girl, although 1 was nearly sixteen. There was one 
girl, Fanuie Sherman, who lived with her father and mother 

58 



and younger brother on a new claim or farm in a log house 
about a mile beyond the schoolhouse in the opposite direc- 
tion from my sister's house. It was in early April. The 
snow had lain deep all the winter, but it was now melting 
under the influence of soft rains and warm suns. I made 
up my mind after deep and mature reflection, that I would 
go home with Fanny Sherman on the coming Friday night 
from singing school. I reached this conclusion about 
Wednesday. It was a serious undertaking, and to me ap- 
proached with more serious apprehension than going to war. 
She knew me and I knew her, as everybody knew each other. 
She was a sweet pretty girl, and was very popular with 
all the boys. Why I should pick her out, I do not know. 
But then I always wanted the best, and I thought she was 
the best. All day Thursday, as the time approached, I was 
very nervous and much perturbed. My appetite was poor, 
I slept poorly Thursday night. Friday was a day of unrest. 
I scarcely ate anything, and sat in a sullen, reflective mood 
until my mother thought I was sick and took down the 
pikery bottle.. Then I had to declare that I was not sick 
for a dose of pikery, would have upset me physically, as 
well as mentally, for my task. I carefully greased my boots 
and oiled my hair with bear's oil, scented with bergamot. 
I had no collar, but my bandana neckerchief was clean. I 
ate no supper. I started early. I did not belong to the 
class, and took a seat in the back part of the schoolhouse. 
The singing school began. The teacher put the class 
through the scales. They sang, "Three Blind Mice — Three 
Blind Mice. They all ran after the Farmer's Wife. She 
cut their Tails ofif with a Carving Knife. Three Blind Mice." 
I looked hard at Fanny, but she did not notice me, and this 
song or exercise of Three Blind Mice kept running through 
my head until I could think of nothing else. I was faint 

59 



and weak from hunger. 1 had no definite plans of how I 
was to go home with her. I knew there were a dozen 
anxious to go home with her. I was fortunately not afraid 
of any of them. I was afraid only of her. I did 
not fully understand, nor think, how she was going 
to do it, but I felt that she could annihilate me easily. 
I can not now account for this fear. When school 
was out, I wedged my way to her and kept between 
her and the other fellows that were crowding up to her. I 
did not ask to go home with her. I knew she would say no, 
but I had desperately resolved to do so, kill or cure, sur- 
vive or perish, and so I just elbowed the other fellows away. 
She looked at me, startled and surprised, but she had to 
go home, and I was the only one near to her, and so we 
started. When we were well started, she said, "Will, are 
you trying to go home with me?" I denied it and said, 
I wanted to see her brother about a steer yoke which we 
owned in common. She said, "All right, come along." She 
seemed relieved when I said I was not going home with 
her. There was a ridge of snow between the two paths 
where the horses trod and I could not get very close to 
her. I was thankful for that, as I would not have dared 
to offer her my arm or touch hers; she seemed to think that 
I was not going home with her, but simply going to see 
her brother. It was very dark, with thick woods all the 
way to her house. When we got there, I said, "Good night, 
Fanny," and turned to go home. She said, "I thought you 
wanted to see my brother. Come in," and in I went. My 
elation at having accomplished the feat of going home with 
a girl was cooled by the fact that she did not realize that I 
had gone home with her at all. The boy was not in and 
I was seated behind the cookstove. Her father and mother 
were nice to me. They had had a late dinner and were 

60 



waiting supper until Fanny got home. On the stove just 
in front of me in a frying pan or skillet with a long handle 
extending out from the stove, was some fresh tenderloin 
pork frying, seasoned with sage leaves. It was very ap- 
petizing and I was very, very hungry. Her father asked 
me questions about our folks which I answered as best I 
could, somewhat frightened at the enormity of my crime 
in trying to go home with a girl. In the end of the spider 
handle was a hole to hang it up on a nail, and in my efforts 
to be composed and answer the old man's questions, my 
right hand was running along the spider handle, my front 
finger slipping in and out the hole, when I discovered with 
dismay, that my finger was through the hole in the spider 
handle, and I could not get it out. I pulled and sweat, and 
shivered, but it was no use, and my finger was swelling. 
What to do, I did not know. Many wild plans formed in 
my mind. I knew that Mrs. Sherman would soon come 
with a case knife to turn the meat over, when she would 
surely discover my predicament, and then good-bye to 
Fanny and peace ever afterwards. I never would get over 
it. I thought of grabbing the spider in both hands, rush- 
ing out of the door and home, or until I could find some 
one to take it off. But I soon discarded that idea. Then 
I saw Mrs. Sherman take a case knife and start towards 
the stove. I knew my time had come ; desperation aided 
my strength, and with my other hand on the spider handle, 
I gave a tremendous pull and drew out my finger and con- 
cealed it in my pocket. I hastily brushed the bits of skin 
from the spider handle, and tried to look cool and uncon- 
cerned, but oh, how my fiinger hurt, and it was bleeding, 
but I wrapped my handkerchief about it and sat silent 
while she turned the meat over. Soon supper was an- 
nounced, and I was invited to eat, but I declared that I 

61 



was not hungry. I had just been to dinner, etc. Neighbors 
were not expected to eat when invited, unless they came by 
invitation, and then I was not accustomed to eat with one 
hand. Soon supper was over. The dishes washed and Mr. 
and Mrs. Sherman went up into the loft to bed. There was 
a fireplace in the other end of the room where Fanny sat. 
The fire was out in the stove and after waiting for 
some time she told me to come over to the fire where 
it was warm. I went, sitting down as far away from 
her as I could. We sat there an hour or more. I 
said very little. I noticed on cleats or slats nailed 
across the joist to the ceiling, pans of milk, placed 
there to keep from freezing, and I wished oh ! so 
much, that I could get a drink of that milk. I had 
never been so hungry before, and my finger pained me 
dreadfully. The boy did not come home, and I finally rea- 
lized that I must go home. I started to go, but Fanny 
would not let me. It was ten o'clock, a slow drizzling rain 
had set in, and it was dark as pitch. When I saw this, I 
concluded that I must stay all night. She went into the 
spare room on the same floor, to prepare my bed, and I 
climbed up on a chair and eased a pan of milk down and 
drank almost a quart of it. It was so good. I was just 
going to take another drink, when I heard her coming, and 
through fear, or a slip, or something, down I went, chair, 
milk, pan and all with the milk spilled all over me, while 
the pan rattled on the hard puncheon floor. The old man 
called out, "Fanny". She came in and looked at me. I 
was a sight. I said, I knew nothing about it. That the 
first thing I knew the pan of milk came tumbling down 
upon me. She answered her father that a pan of milk had 
fallen down. It must have been insecurely placed on the 
slats, and then she set to work with towels and cloths to 

62 



remove the milk from me. I felt sheepish, and thought I 
would make a clean breast of it, and tell her everything, 
but then, I was afraid, and soon she took a candle and 
showed me my room. 

There were clothes enough on the bed, but a piece of 
wood to stop the chink between the logs was gone, and 
wind and rain came through this place fiercely. It was a 
crevice or open space about three inches up and down, 
and eighteen inches long, right by the head of my bed. I 
knew that I would take cold, unless I stopped this hole, 
and so after vainly searching for something to stop it with, 
I took my trousers and wedged them into the crevice and 
went to sleep. In the morning I was awakened by raps 
on the door, and sprang out of bed, but my trousers were 
gone and the wind was coming through the crevice as much 
as ever. I could not understand it and looked in vain for 
my trousers. Then I searched the room for a pair of the 
boy's trousers, but I could not find anything to wear, not 
even a dress of Fanny's, and when I heard another rap 
on the door, I put on what clothes I had, and asked who 
was there. Fanny's father answered, and said it was late. 
1 asked him to come in. I explained my trouble. He 
laughed and said he thought he could find my trousers. 
They had two early spring calves, and to break the wind 
from them, had built a little leanto, or shed, up against the 
house next my bedroom. The calves discovering my trous- 
ers, had drawn them through the crack and sucked and 
chewed and stamped on them. Mr. Sherman brought them 
in. They looked like a frozen mop. A pair of the boy's 
trousers was loaned me. I stayed to breakfast, and played 
checkers with Fanny, while her mother washed, ironed and 
dried my trousers, and I went home with my reputation 

63 



saved, and much better acquainted with Fanny, and less 
afraid of her. 

The battle of Bull Run had been fought and lost, and 
the battle of Drainsville fought and won. The war spirit 
was high. The popular song was "John Brown's Body Lies 
Mouldering in the Grave, but his Soul is Marching On." 
It was his spirit that was marching with the soldiers. 
"Uncle Tom's Cabin," and John Brown were the inspira- 
tion of the North. The men who volunteered went South 
to abolish slavery and revenge John Brown and Uncle Tom. 
If there had been only the question of division of States 
at issue, I doubt whether the war would have occurred. 
The North was fired with a hate of slavery. It was a curse 
upon the land. I have always thought that Harriet Beecher 
Stowe and John Brown did more to rouse the patriotic 
spirit of the North than any other persons. The war 
dragged along through 1862 with indifferent success. I 
was at home helping my father on the farm with occasional 
work at some of the neighbors. I had gotten over my fear 
of girls and attended the dances in the neighborhood. Mrs. 
Willard owned a house that had a dance hall in it, and 
country dances were frequent then. We did not dance the 
Tango, but the old square dances of four couples, Virginia 
Reel and Money Musk. The fiddler, Andrew Taylor, was 
the only musician. He also called the movements. There 
were some good dancers but I rarely saw a waltz. Most 
any one could dance by obeying the calls. It was Alamand 
left — balance partners and all promenade. But we enjoyed 
it, and many a harmless flirtation ripened into courtship 
and marriage. Each boy paid the fiddler twenty-five cents. 
We gave Mrs. Willard twenty-five cents. Each boy brought 
a girl, and she brought lunch for the two. We danced until 
one or two o'clock in the morning, and then saw our girls 

64 



home. There were no chaperones — none were necessary. 
If a young man had a bad name, the parents would not 
let their daughter go with him at all. 

I had a bad case of pneumonia in the spring of 1862, 
and came very near dying. I was very ill and not expected 
to live. I would have probably died, had it not been that 
Doctor Packer, our family doctor, returned suddenly from 
the army and took charge of my case at the most critical 
time. I did not know that he was home, or that my father 
had gone for him, when he bundled into the room with his 
great big Buffalo skin overcoat on, shaking off the snow, 
and talking rapidly in his small, snappy voice. I felt like 
a prisoner condemned to die, who is pardoned. I knew 
then that I would get well. I did not expect to, until he 
came in. He had treated me for diphtheria and a light case 
of smallpox and knew me. He had a cheery way of rally- 
ing his patients. He turned me over, asked many ques- 
tions, and from his old leather saddle bags took out his 
cups. These were little cup-like cells which he placed over 
my lungs and proceeded to exhaust the air from them by a 
small contrivance like a pump. He had made little cuts 
in the skin. By this operation he drew pus and thick 
blood from my chest. I felt better. Then he bled me in 
the arm and gave me medicine which he carried with him. 
He had emptied the contents of his saddle bags on the 
table and would search out the things that he wanted, talk- 
ing constantly. "We will soon have you up, you are not 
nearly as sick as you think you are. If those fool doctors 
had let you alone, you would have been well by this time." 
He may not have been a great doctor in the opinion of some, 
but in our family, he was the greatest doctor in the world, 
and as I recall the state of the medical practice at that 
time he was the best and most famous doctor in the north- 

65 



ern tier and he was always welcome at our house. He gen- 
erally drove up about an hour before dinner in his high, 
two-wheeled gig, with his tall bay horse, Bob. That gave 
my mother time, but if dinner was a little late, it was a 
good one. Such hot wheat cream biscuits as she could 
make, and fresh white honey in the comb ! We always had 
store coffee when he was there. When there was no com- 
pany we usually had pea-wheat, or bean coffee. Beans 
roasted brown make very good coffee, with rich cream. 
Doctor Packer was a good story teller, and if his stories 
were mostly at the expense of his medical brethren, they 
were deeply interesting. One of his stories I remember. 
A farmer was sick with a burning fever, and the doctor 
treating him, would not allow him any water, although he 
begged for it. He was delirious, and it required two of his 
neighbors to hold him in bed. In front of the house was a 
big spring eighteen inches deep, with water over a space 
ten feet across. One night the watchers got a little care- 
less, and the patient broke away and ran out to the spring, 
and lay down in it, and drank his fill of it, before they 
could get him out, and into bed again. Some one went 
hurriedly for the doctor. He said, "It is no use for me 
to see him. Go to the coffinmaker and order his coffin. He 
will die before morning." They turned sorrowfully away 
and went home to find the patient asleep. When he was 
awake he sent for Doctor Packer. The doctor came and 
continued the water treatment, and the man got well. The 
doctor claimed that he had learned a lesson, and that there- 
after he was going to let his fever patients have water. 
We were all glad of that, for we were not allowed to have 
water when we were sick, no matter how thirsty we were. 
A little sip of crust coffee was all we got, and that was 

66 



warm. It was bread toasted to a brown and placed in hot 
water. This made a drink called crust coffee. 

There were many meetings in Wellsboro to raise vol- 
unteers, and many men enlisted in the volunteer regiments. 
Each county was required to recruit a given number of men, 
and failing to do so, there was a draft in prospect. The 
counties divided the number of men required among the 
boroughs and townships. There were many men liable to 
be drafted who were very eloquent in persuading the others 
to enlist. While a lawyer was holding forth on the vil- 
lage green, eloquently, on the duty of every patriotic citi- 
zen to enlist, some one called out, "Why don't you en- 
list." A man standing next to him said, "Keep quiet. We 
can't spare him. If he enlists, there will be no one left to 
urge others to enlist, and we will all be drafted." But 
quite as large a proportion of lawyers volunteered as of 
any other occupation, and some of them proved their pa- 
triotism by leaving their bodies on southern battle fields. 
I used to attend these meetings, some of which were at 
night in the courthouse. Generally, there were fine din- 
ners served by the patriotic ladies, and a brass band and 
members of the church choirs gave good entertainment at 
the meetings. At one of these afternoon and evening meet- 
ings I got acquainted with a girl near my age who interested 
me. She was very nice, but I was not introduced and I did 
not even know her name, or where she lived, but she was a 
nice, modest, pretty girl. Introductions were not necessary. 
We just got to talking together, and when the meeting 
broke up, about eleven thirty at night, I asked -to see her 
home. She consented and we started. I supposed she lived 
in town, but she did not. We walked between five and six 
miles over the Charleston hills before we reached her home. 
Then I had to walk back to town, and then five miles home. 

67 



When I finally got back, just before daylight, I did not 
feel as much patriotism for the country or the girl as I did 
at the meeting. It is strange how physical influences will 
quench optimism and patriotism. 

In July, 1863, the great battle of Gettysburg was 
fought. I was then seventeen years old and was anxious 
to enlist. 



CHAPTER XXII. 
I Become a Soldier. 



There was a battalion of Pennsylvania volunteers or- 
ganized to defend the State under a six months' enlistment. 
George W. Merrick was the Captain of Company A, and I, 
with four other boys went to Harrisburg and enlisted in 
Captain Merrick's Company. We were to be mustered in 
and get our uniforms in a few days, and in the meantime 
were given a tent and rations. Before I was mustered an 
order came to discharge me and send me home. My father 
had telegraphed Senator Simon Cameron, and he had ob- 
tained my discharge. I had neglected to get my father's 
consent to my enlistment, or tell him about it, for I was 
afraid that he might object. I came back to the farm, and re- 
mained through the fall, and until February, when I talked 
the matter over with my father. Captain Merrick's Com- 
pany had been mustered out of service, and he was recruit- 
ing another company. I told my father that I was deter- 
mined to go as a volunteer, that I wanted to go in Captain 
Merrick's Company, and that if he would not give his 
consent, I would enlist in some other regiment, under an- 

68 



other name. When he saw that I was determined to go, 
he gave his consent in writing, and I joined Captain Mer- 
rick's Company. I can't say that it was any excess of pa- 
triotism that led me to do this. I suppose that I was as 
patriotic as the average boy of my- age, but my recollec- 
tion is that I felt ashamed to stay at home when so many 
boys were going. I had attained to a man's height, and 
much more. I was six feet, four inches and a half tall. 
I weighed about one hundred and thirty-five pounds. I 
enlisted as a private, and because of my height was the 
first man in the company. We camped at Camp Curtain 
in Harrisburg, while the regiment was being formed. 1 
was surprised to find my oldest half-brather as a recruit in 
Company I, of the same regiment. We became the One 
Hundred and Eighty-seventh Pa. Volunteer Infantry, of 
which Captain Merrick became the major. We had a 
"paper" colonel, whom I never saw, and a lieutenant colonel 
named Ramsey, who had very little to do with the regiment. 
Major Merrick was the real commander. Then began a 
series of drills and Merrick began to whip the regiment into 
discipline and prepare it for the front. My family then had 
four sons in the army, my three older half-brothers, and 
myself. 

Camp Curtin was about a mile up the river from the 
city. About half way between the city and the camp was 
a small roadhouse, or tavern, kept by a man named Bailey. 
He had a very pretty daughter named Nellie, about my age, 
and I used to go there quite often. We were good friends. 
There were a good many women in town who frequently 
came to camp, that were very easy to get acquainted with, 
especially after pay day, but they had no attraction for 
me. Nellie Bailey was a modest, quiet, bright, little girl, 
who always looked and acted pleased when I went to see 

69 • 



her. She was not a flirt, and was very careful about re- 
ceiving attention from the young men who went to her 
father's house. He was watchful of her. He would sell 
a soldier a drink, and like as not, warn his daughter against 
him. I had never taken any intoxicating drinks, except at 
sheep washing at home, after standing long in the water. 
I got sick and the surgeon of the regiment did not know 
what was the matter. I went down to Bailey's tavern, 
under leave of absence, where I had a nice sympathetic 
nurse, for Nellie was very good to me. I developed a case 
of mumps, but I soon got well, and so did Nellie, for she had 
them too. I had never thought of love or marriage up to 
that time, nor did I then. We were just good friends and 
comrades. 

Our company lay at Camp Curtin through March and 
April. We were in an enclosure called the Bull Penn, 
which had a high board fence all around it. Two or three 
gates gave access to it, which gates were guarded. They 
were open and the sentry stood at one side of the open- 
ing with his gun leaning across to the other side. Women 
selling pies, cakes, candy, etc., stood outside, and the men 
on the inside, would reach through the gate opening, and 
purchase from the hucksters. Bill Chestnut, of our com- 
pany, looked unworthy of trust, and he had to put down 
money before the hucksters would let him touch their goods. 
I think -that my face looked more honest than Bill's, for 
an old woman let me pile up five small custard pies on 
which I was trying to get a discount, if I took them all, 
when Bill reached through under the gun, grabbed the pies 
and ran with them. She demanded payment from me. I 
only had twenty-five cents, which was the price of the pies. 
She claimed that I piled up the pies on purpose so that 
Bill could steal them. I denied it, but the more we dis- 

70 



puted about it, the more I began to think that possibly I 
did. I knew that Bill would steal or take things from 
hucksters without paying for them. It was not regarded 
as stealing. They usually charged us two prices for things, 
and we thought it legitimate to take things from them, 
but Captain Merrick thought differently about it. She 
told her story to him and he sent for us. I paid for the pies. 
A very reputable man who has, since the close of the war, 
won a name for himself as a good and successful lawyer, 
did steal or take things from these hucksters. He never 
stole anything from any one else, but he was an adept at 
removing eggs, chickens, pies, cakes, milk and other things 
from the hucksters. I never took anything myself, but ob- 
serving Hank Foots' success at it, I cultivated his ac- 
quaintance and got to bunk with him. It paid me and 
helped him. His repuation among the hucksters was bad. 
Mine was good. I saw him steal a three-gallon can of milk 
from a huckster one morning. The man had two cans, one 
on each side of him. He was blind in the right eye. 
Foot knew this, and when the man reached around for 
the can on his left side to fill a pint tin cup at ten cents, 
the can on the right disappeared. He turned clear around 
to bring his left eye into range, but could see nothing, all 
was tranquil. Foot had a sort of a cellar under the rough 
board floor of our tent. He put his plunder there. We 
lived well, much better than the average. I do not claim 
that I was any better than Foot, although I was not on 
the lookout for opportunities for him. He was a success 
at it, while I would have been a complete failure. James 
Wilkinson bought, in a drug store, sweet spirits of nitre, but 
it proved to be nitric acid, and after he had swallowed two 
teaspoonfuls of it, he was given over to die by the regi- 
mental surgeon, but George Kennedy, the hospital steward, 

71' 



knew his business. He mixed up some magnesia with water 
and got it down his throat, and into his stomach. Jim got 
over it. The surgeon was jealous of Kennedy after that. 
He was disappointed because Jim Wilkinson did not die. 
First Lieutenant Morgan Hart became captain when 
Merrick became major; Second Lieutenant Robert Young 
became first lieutenant, and Gerald Denison, the orderly 
sergeant, became second lieutenant. Bill Borden became 
orderly. I was made a corporal, and I was more proud ot 
it than of any office that I have ever received. I had 
two dark blue stripes on my arm, and got two dollars more 
a month. We were suddenly ordered to the front in the 
early part of May, 1864. We went on cars to Washington, 
where, for the first time, I saw the National Capitol. Then 
we were encamped at Arlington. There I was taken sick 
and sent back to Carver Hospital, somewhere on 14th 
Street, probably what is now 14th and F or G. I was there 
a couple of months when Breckenridge and Early made 
their raid on Washington. There was some fighting at 
Fort Steadman and Fort Slocum near Washington. Every 
one that was able to walk, was ordered out of the hospitals, 
organized into a kind of Coxey's Army and armed. I was 
able to walk, but not far at a time. I had what was known 
as chronic diarrhoea, as did nearly every northern soldier, 
more or less, who was subjected to the southern climate, 
but we marched out to Fort Slocum and lay there for sev- 
eral days near a vegetable garden. The confederates were 
all gone when we got there, but we did guard duty, and I 
found that the onions, new potatoes, and other vegetables 
in the garden were helping me, that I was getting well, and 
I made up my mind that I would not go back to the hos- 
pital. When we were disbanded I reported fit for duty, and 
was marched to Camp Distribution near Alexandria, on the 

. n 



Potomac River, just below Washington, and waited there 
to be sent to my regiment, then in front of Petersburg in 
the Army of the Potomac. I fell in with a man there from 
my county named Wallace Moore and we tented together. 
He was quite a good scrub cook and fixed up palatable 
dishes out of army rations and the few vegetables that 
we could get. I suppose there were five or six thousand 
men there, all waiting to be sent to their regiments. We 
got our water from a great deep, wide-mouthed well. The 
water was always murky and rily. One morning there 
was great commotion when the water got low and a dead 
man was found in the well. He had been there some time, 
but no one had noticed any difference in the water. We 
did not use any more water out of that well, but carried 
it a long distance from a creek. It was well on in August 
when I joined the regiment in front of Petersburg. There 
I found that many changes had taken place. Lieutenant 
Dennison had resigned and gone home, Bela Borden was 
no longer orderly sergeant, Timothy H. Culver was the 
orderly and there was no second, lieutenant. A number 
of men in the company had been killed and wounded at 
Forts Hell and Damnation, and not over one-third of the 
company of one hundred and thirteen answered roll call. 
I had been promoted to be a seargeant and I soon fell into 
the daily discharge of my duties. 

We were camped in a pleasant little grove of pines and 
lived very well. An occasional shell from the confederates 
would trouble us and one man was killed by a shell. It 
was soon after I joined the regiment, that we were moved 
out to the Welden Railroad which we captured and the con- 
federates were driven back. We hastily scooped up dirt with 
our hands and tin plates and threw it on to logs and rails 

7Z 



in front, making a rude rifle pit. We piled the ties up and 
set them on fire and threw the rails on the fire which bent 
them out of shape under the heat. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 
On Picket. 



That night I was put on picket duty for the first time. 
We expected the confederates who were on the other side 
of a piece of woods in our front to attempt to recapture 
the road and were given specific instructions by the officer 
of the guard. We were told that if any man went to sleep 
on his post he would be court martialed and shot. We were 
marched out to the edge of the woods, and I being a sergeant 
was placed in charge of three picket posts, my own and two 
on the left of me. I was expected to visit them at intervals 
during the night. There were five men in each post. I 
suppose the posts were one hundred and fifty yards apart. 
A nasty, drizzling rain had set in and it was very dis- 
agreeable. We were all tired, hungry and exhausted from 
our march through the day. And as our supplies had not 
come up we had only what our haversacks contained. 
We were told by the officer of the guard that a week be- 
fore, a picket post had been found with their throats cut 
from ear to ear. In front of each post was a man called 
the vedette, who was a lookout. He was supposed to watch 
and report to his post any advance of the enemy. The 
vedette in front of our post was Nelse Starkweather a man 
that I knew very well. In the post was Jud Hall, Palmer 
Wilcox, Wesley Saxbury, Geo. B. McGonigal, and myself. 
I started to visit the two posts on my left. It was pitch 

74 



dark. I found one, I do not know whether it was the 
nearest or the farthest one away. They seemed all right 
and I started to return. The edge of the woods was 
angular and I could see nothing. I walked slowly and pushed 
through the low brushwood and over the logs. Because 
of the darkness I could not tell whether I was in the woods 
or the underbrush. I knew that Nelse Starkweather was 
the vedette in front of my post. I knew that he had orders 
to shoot at anyone moving in front of him. I knew that 
he was the most advanced man of our army. I lost all 
calculation of distance or direction. I was a non-com- 
missioned officer. I was in a dilemma. I was more afraid 
of Starkweather than the confederates. I stood behind a 
big tree and the rain dripped and there was a chilly wind. I 
did not know my position but I called in a whisper "Nelse", 
he answered only a few feet away. He knew me and 
said "I had a rest on you ; if you had moved again I would 
have fired. Here, let me take you back to the post." 
Knowing that he was a deer slayer and one of the best 
shots in the Northern Tier of counties of Pennsylvania, 
I appreciated the fact that had he fired at me I surely 
would have been hit in a vital spot. He led me back to 
the picket post and there they were, all sound asleep and 
snoring. Expecting the grand rounds every minute, and 
knowing that if they came and found the men asleep they 
would be court-martialed and shot, I was in a terrible 
predicament. There they lay, snoring loud enough to be 
heard very plainly quite a distance. Nelse Starkweather 
crawled back to his vedette post and I undertook to waken 
the sleepers. I pulled them, rolled them about, but they 
would not get up. They were asleep or pretended to be. 
They were very tired, having marched a long distance, and 
I could not rouse them. I also was very tired and sleepy, 

75 



and I sat down with my back against a tree. I saw 
that in spite of my efforts I might go to sleep. I had 
never used tobacco and I knew that it would make me 
sick. Palmer Wilcox always carried fine cut chewing 
tobacco loose in his blouse pocket so I crawled to him 
and got some of it and put it in my mouth, swallowing 
some of the juice. It made me so sick that I vomited at 
intervals, which kept me awake. I knew that the officers 
of the guard would come around and finding us asleep 
we would be court-martialed and shot and being an ofificer 
they would probably shoot me twice. It still rained and 
was cold and I was watching and listening for the ofificers of 
the guard, wondering why did they not come and "have it 
over with"? I was so sick and miserable that I doubted that 
I could prove I was awake if they did come. There was no 
sound but the loud and regular snores of my sleeping 
comrades. I knew that some one should crawl out and 
relieve the vedette. I tried to rouse the sleepers again but 
could not, so I got a fresh supply of tobacco and crawled 
out to relieve Starkweather. When I got to him he was 
also sound asleep. I could not rouse him, so I kept watch. 
Everything was quiet in front, so I crawled back to the men. 
I could easily find them by their snores. When I got there 
I could hear Starkweather snore in front. I passed the 
night watching both posts, and never in my life have I 
passed such a horrible night. The fate of the army might 
hang on me, for I was there to give the alarm by shooting 
my gun, if there was an advance. We were in an old lane 
bordered on each side by persimmon trees, and the confeder- 
ates would naturally come up this lane. I could still shoot 
my gun but I could not retreat. I was too sick to stand up, 
but I took a little tobacco emetic occasionally and hung 
on. Along toward morning it stopped raining and the 

76 



moon came out. Then I again thought of the men in the 
post whose throats were cut. I tried not to think about 
them, but I could not help it. It sat with my back against a 
tree about half way between the post and the vedette. I 
could see by the light of the moon, and suddenly I saw 
three or four men crawling stealthily toward the post. 
I sat frozen with fear. I dare not shoot and alarm the 
whole army. I was only to shoot in case a force advanced. 
I was concealed by a bush in front of me. I thought I 
would wait until they got near enough to make sure of 
hitting one of them and then shoot. Perhaps they would 
go back. I was in great trouble. I could see them crawling 
slowly but surely towards the post. I had often been fright- 
ened in my life, but never like that, for it was torture. No 
one on the rack ever suffered more than I did. I was so 
frightened, that I could then keep awake, for I dared not 
move for fear of discovery. I knew they would not expect 
to find any one awake. The snorers did not keep time 
and it sounded as if the whole army lay about that 
post asleep. How long this lasted I do not know. It 
finally occurred to me that they were a long time crawling 
up to the post. I shifted my position slightly and then 
could not see them. It was growing lighter, and I knew that 
day was breaking. It was some time before I could con- 
vince myself that there had been no one there. It was 
my imagination helped by the tobacco and the story of 
the men in the other post with their throats cut, but 
while it lasted it was just as real to me as if there were 
men crawling up to the post. With daylight the men got 
awake, stretched themselves and talked. I was too sick 
to berate them. I slept a while, but got up when the 
officers of the guard came around — All was well. The men 



were all awake and looked refreshed. I was awake but 
did not look refreshed. I made up my mind to say nothing 
about the previous night to any one, not even to the men, 
for I knew they could not keep it. They might deny being 
asleep, and I could not prove that they were. I had learned 
that it is just as hard for the average man to keep a thing 
like that as it is for a woman, and perhaps harder. Gossip- 
ing is not confined to either sex. 

We had nothing to eat all day. There was no fruit 
except the persimmons, but they were not ripe for there 
had been no frost to ripen them. A green persimmon is 
much worse than a green apple, for they have a griping, 
puckering efifect like choke cherries. Fortunately, we had 
nothing to do but sit around as the confederates did not 
attack us that day. At six o'clock we were relived by an- 
other detail and we marched slowly into camp. My tent- 
mate Sergeant Bricker had supper waiting, and after drink- 
ing some coffee and eating some hard tack I felt better. 
He then brought out a watermelon which he had purchased. 
That was my undoing. I was very sick that night, and I 
have never eaten watermelon since. 

Everything seemed quiet, and Bricker and I went 
pretty well down to our picket line to get some shingles 
that I had seen scattered about an old house that had been 
torn down. The ground in our small tent was a little 
muddy and we wanted to make ourselves more comfort- 
able. We found the shingles and piled them on two poles. 
Then I took the front ends of the poles and he the rear 
end and we started slowly to camp. We had gotten about 
half way back when the confederates began their attack. 
Cannon balls and shells were flying through the air from 
both sides. We got back to our tent but we brought no 
shingles. He beat me back. I remember thinking thaf 

78 



I did not know that he was such a sprinter, but he had the 
advantage. He was Hghter loaded than I, for I still had to 
carry some of that watermelon. The regiment was in 
column, so we grabbed our guns and accouterments and 
fell into line and soon took our places behind the rough 
breastworks that had been much strengthened the day be- 
fore. The breastworks lay in a straight line all along in 
front of our camp, but Gen. Warren, our Corps Com- 
mander had constructed a line of breastworks beginning 
in the main line on our right and running from it at an 
angle of about forty-five degrees. It looked like the main 
line, for it ran near to the woods in our front and ended 
sharply. I never saw a prettier sight than that made by 
the confederates as they moved out of the woods beyond 
this angular line and charged the rear of the line. They 
evidently did not understand that they were between two 
lines. There were officers on horses, flags were flying 
while drums and fifes played martial airs. We all re- 
frained from firing until they got in the right position and 
then we began firing from both lines while cannon from 
the small hill behind us poured shot and shell into their 
ranks. They went down like ten pins before a skilful 
ball. Before the smoke concealed them I could see that 
there were no longer any mounted men among them, 
while frightened riderless horses were galloping in all di- 
rections, some plunging into our lines. It was a terrible 
slaughter and those who escaped retreated rapidly into the 
woods. The attack was general. Our regiment was 
marched at double quick about a mile or half mile to the 
right under a heavy cannon fire from the confederates. 
A shell passed very close to me, the concussion knocking 
me down. It entered Company D just next to our com- 
pany and exploded, killing three men and wounding sev- 

79 



eral others. We then charged directly in front into a 
piece of woods driving out the confederates and recaptur- 
ing some rifle pits which had been taken from our men 
earlier in the day. For a time there was no fighting for 
us. I walked back a little way and there behind a big 
tree stood Jim Stanton. He was a queer man and could 
not stand fire. No matter how he was taunted and reviled 
for his cowardice the moment he came under fire he would 
run. Capt. Hart on entering into one engagement ordered 
him up in the presence of the Company and drawing his 
revolver told him that he was going to keep his eye on him 
and the moment that he started to run he would shoot him, 
but Jim kept his eye on the Captain too, and in the first 
fire he got away and was not seen during the balance of 
the engagement. He had a brother Robert who was brave 
and cool under fire and was recommended for promotion 
for his bravery in battle. When the war was over there 
was no man in the Grand Army of the Republic that could 
narrate more hair breadth stories than Jim. No man who 
could tell of the hardship and privations of war so well as he. 
He would sing "Rally Around the Flag" with an earnest 
patriotic zeal that made every one wish he had been in the 
army. I crept back to my place in the rifle pit where we 
carried on the policy of watchful waiting for the balance of 
the day. We knew that the confederates lay in front of us, 
but could not see them for the trees. We were in a swampy 
place and it was hard to find ground that was dry enough on 
which to be comfortable. Just after dark it began to rain 
and about midnight we found that the rain was washing 
away the dirt from the barricade of poles and rails and mak- 
ing our rifle pit w^orthless. Some shovels were obtained 
from the rear and the captain asked for volunteers to get 
over on the other side and shovel dirt on the rails. Lon 

80 



Mack, Dick Francis, I and several others volunteered. We 
expected that the confederates would shoot at the sound 
as soon as they heard the shovels, and sure enough they 
did. Francis and another man whose name I cannot recall 
were wounded. I recollect that it was a perilous under- 
taking and I did not want to go, but I knew that some of 
us had to go and being an ofhcer I felt that I should set an 
example and that in peril, the officers should place them- 
selves before the men and take the risk. It was not 
bravery but just a sense of pride, responsibility, and 
duty. I do not believe that any one ever experienced a 
conscious feeling of bravery. I noticed that there was a 
big tree several feet from the rifle pit in front of me. I 
had noticed it during the day and when I got over the rifle 
pit I just naturally got in front of that tree. I could do 
as good work with my shovel there as anywhere else and 
I shoveled hard in perfect safety. The tree did not inter- 
fere with me at all. I did not object to it, but think I 
would have objected if any one had tried to take it away. 
No one else seemed to want that place. I suppose that it 
did not occur to any of them but it did to me, and it may 
have influenced me some to volunteer promptly, and, may 
have caused me to remain a little longer than the rest. 
It is so long ago that I cannot remember all the little de- 
tails of my life. No one ever spoke about the tree and I 
never mentioned it, but we finished the job and those 
who were not wounded resumed their places. In the morn- 
ing the confederates withdrew and we were moved back 
to higher and better ground. A thing that seemed curious 
to me happened at this battle. We had a quiet, level- 
headed man in our company by the name of Travis. For 
a day or two before the fight this man said that he would 
be killed in that battle. He wrote home to his wife and 

81 



friends predicting his death. The Captain heard of it and 
told him that he need not go into the fight, that he would 
detail him for some service in the rear. He knew that 
Travis had shown his courage and that he was sincere in 
his belief that he would be shot. But Travis declined to 
stay in the rear. He went into the fight and was shot 
dead at the first fire. I dreamed one night after my ex- 
perience on picket that I was shot through the head and 
killed. I thought that I fell down about twenty feet and 
struck on a big fluffy feather bed. I remember thinking 
that if I was sure that I would land on a soft feather bed 
I would not object to being shot, but I was partly asleep 
when I thought that. I knew when awake that if what 
little theology I had heard was true, I would not land on a 
fluffy soft feather bed, I would probably land where it was 
warm enough, but there would be no feather bed there, 
and so I never courted death, and do not now. I suppose 
that there is no use in trying to dodge it when it does come, 
but I am not beckoning to it. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 
In Camp. 



We now lay in a little grove or woods of small pine 
trees, and each man made himself a couch or bunk of pine 
needles. By driving four stakes into the ground with 
forked tops, then laying cross pieces and small poles on 
the cross pieces with larger poles on the sides and ends, 
then filling in with pine needles in plenty, we had a springy 
comfortable bed. With our oil cloth blankets spread on 

82 



poles about two feet above the couch to keep off the dew 
and then a blanket to cover us we were all right. Here we 
got letters from home and wrote them. Here our sutler 
joined us with all sorts of things to sell — cakes, pies, candy, 
pop corn, stationery, and stamps and here we were paid 
off. Some of us who had been trusted before and paid 
could get credit with the sutler. They were always with us 
except when we were too close to the enemy. The envelopes 
coming to us and those we sent had little patriotic songs 
upon them in fine print, covering sometimes two-thirds of 
the envelope. It rec|uired some taste and skill to select the 
envelope. It would not do to send a letter to your mother 
with the song of "The Girl I Left Behind Me" or to write to 
your best girl with the song on the envelope of "Who Will 
Care for Mother Now." But the song on the envelope must 
bear the proper relation to the person. Our letters would 
come in envelopes with songs on them of "We Shall Meet 
but We Shall Miss Him." "There Will be One V^acant 
Chair" and "Where is my Boy To-night." These envelopes 
were of all colors, scarlet, pink, white, blue, and grey. They 
were very popular at home and in the army, and many a 
poor letter writer was helped out very much by the selec- 
tion of an envelope that bore the proper song. It was 
wonderful how patient the folks were at home, and how 
they cheered us with their letters. Boys wrote letters to 
girls at home that they scarcely knew, and the girls were 
very nice to answer them. Of course, as poor speakers 
make the most speeches, the poorest writers wrote the 
most letters. 

What still lives in my memory was the camp fire. In 
the early part of the evening before taps, we sat about the 
fires in groups and listened to stories and songs. There 

83 



were always one or two good singers and story tellers in 
every group of men and their songs and stories were always 
in demand. Stories were told of home folks and of people 
that we knew of and their oddities, and as the fire died down 
to a bed of coals and one by one the men went to their bunks, 
a few of us would still remain and like Dickens' Lizzie 
Hexam gaze into the glowing coals in the hollow by the 
flare, where our imaginations would weave bright pictures 
of home, mother, and friends. Then to our bunks and 
sleep, to be roused out in the morning by the fife and drum 
playing the reveille. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

Ordered to Philadelphia. 

About October first our regiment was ordered to 
Philadelphia and placed in Camp Cadwalader, on the out- 
skirts of Philadelphia for duty in Pennsylvania. I have 
never known why we went to Pennsylvania, for there were 
no more raids of any consequence into Pennsylvania after 
Gettysburg. Camp Cadwalader covered some fifty or more 
acres, and was enclosed by a high board fence. There were 
barracks and offices inside, and a number of officers were sta- 
tioned there. New regiments of recruits were organized in 
Philadelphia, whose officers glistened with gold foil, but- 
tons and epaulettes. Their horses were accoutered with 
saddles and bright cloths ornamented with shining metal. 
These officers thought that they saved the Union although 
they never got nearer the front than Philadelphia. They 
had political influence and drew the same pay as men ot 

84 



the same rank in front. Our regiment was ordered on 
dress parade the day after we got there. Of course we 
came back when ordered and were in our fighting clothes. 
We had no extra clothing as we had thrown it away on 
the march. The average man had a woolen shirt, a pair of 
trousers, a hat, blouse, and shoes. I had owned for a time 
while in front a pair of socks, but I had none when we went 
to Philadelphia. We had no trouble with dress parade at the 
front, but neither our appearance nor our evolutions satis- 
lied these gorgeous military officials who commanded Camp . 
Cadwalader. A stranger could not tell the rank of all of our 
officers. Some of them had no shoulder straps, but we knew 
them, for they had led us in battle. There was no mistake 
about the camp officers for they had braid on their trousers, 
coats, and caps, and shoulder straps large enough for shelter 
when it rained. Had the confederates ever come to Phila- 
delphia and discovered these officers and it had been ex- 
plained to them what they were, they would have beat a 
hasty retreat. They were great on the salute and its return. 
That is likely the only thing military that they knew. We 
got into position and paraded before this brilliant bunch. 
When it was over a little fellow read an order or com- 
position which was a criticism on our personal appearance. 
If they had given us time we could have improved it. They 
evidently thought that the officers at the front looked as 
they did. There was a battalion of invalids organized for 
camp duty from men who had been wounded in battle. 
Nearly every man was minus a leg or an arm or an eye, 
but they were scrubbed and scoured and ironed until they 
looked scrumptious. Our comparison to them was unfavor- 
able to us. So they told us, in the order, that we were not 
soldierly and neat. Now^ if there is anything that offends 

85 



it is a criticism of personal appearance. Neither we, nor 
our officers liked the order. They marched up to head- 
quarters and denounced it. Our Captain, Morgan Hart, 
expressed himself freely about it, and there was profanity 
in the air. So they were put under arrest and court- 
martialed. The military court was composed of wise 
stay-at-homes. Some of our officers were convicted and 
dismissed from the service for insubordination — Captain 
Hart among the number. In Captain Hart's dismissal the 
country lost the services of a brave, capable officer. It 
was a shame, perpetrated by cowardly home guards who 
were jealous of the courage which they did not possess. 
The close of the war in the following April absorbed all 
attention and this wrong has never been righted. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 
Home on Furlough. 



Soon after we reached Camp Cadwalader I obtained 
a furlough for two weeks and went home. I got to Wells- 
boro about nine o'clock at night and walked out to the 
farm, reaching there about ten-thirty. My parents did 
not know that I was coming. As soon as I got near the 
house I saw the dog coming towards me, barking and 
showing a decided objection to my coming nearer. I sat 
on top of the fence and was amused at his war-like atti- 
tude. He was my dog and there was always a great friend- 
ship between us. He was barking and very hostile, for he 
did not know me in my blue uniform and I had been away 
eight months. I finally spoke his name, and he knew me at 

86 



once when he heard my voice. His attitude suddenly 
changed, so I got down from the fence. He manifested great 
delight, and I never saw such evidence of joy from^ man or 
beast before. He would run around me, lick my hands 
and rub his face against my knees and was wild with de- 
light. There was a full moon an dit was quite light and the 
old farm and buildings never looked so good to me before. 
I knew that all in the house were in bed and asleep and 
I thought I would get into the house and up-stairs with- 
out wakening any one. I had to go through the room 
where my father and mother slept. I got through the 
kitchen window and was tiptoeing through their room when 
my mother began to scream. She had dreamed that I was 
killed and that she saw me. They did not know that the 
regiment had gone to Philadelphia. The whole house was 
aroused and we had some trouble to quiet her and satisfy 
her that it was really I, alive, instead of my ghost. But 
finally she became satisfied and things settled down into a 
normal condition. I was everywhere welcomed by the 
neighbors and friends and enjoyed my return home very 
much. I went to country dances and had a splendid time 
with my friends. 

I reported at Camp Cadwalader on the day my fur- 
lough expired and again took up my duties. 



87 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

Back in Camp. 

The dismissal of Captain Hart raised Lieutenant 
Young to the rank of Captain, Sergeant Culver to first 
Lieutenant, and I became second Lieutenant, although I 
was not mustered for a long time afterwards, but dis- 
charged the duties of orderly or first sergeant. We kept 
up our company and regimental drills and had dress 
parades and inspections. There were vacant fields near 
and we frequently went outside the camp to drill and for 
inspection. We were paid our back money and drew new 
clothes and supplies. Captain Young was a splendid man 
in many ways, but he was not a military man. He was 
kind and indulgent to his men and would resent any un- 
fair treatment to any of them by any officer. He was 
about forty or forty-five years old. He was a moulder 
and had Avorked all of his life over moulds in which plow 
irons and other parts of machinery were cast. He was 
over six feet tall and his work compelled him to be stooped 
down much of the time, and as a result of this he acquired 
a stoop or bend in his back that prevented hirh from stand- 
ing in the position of a soldier. He stood, even when try- 
ing his best, at an agle of fifteen or twenty degrees from 
perpendicular. He was a brave soldier and very popular, 
with his men. He was quite a good boxer and knew some- 
thing of the manly art and he sometimes enforced dis- 
cipline by this means. He did not like to put a man in 
the guardhouse for a slight violation of rules and" he would 
waive his rank and settle their differences sometimes as 



they were settled before they entered the service. He was 
quite capable and after several experiences most of the 
offenders preferred the guardhouse. He knocked the 
adjutant down once for trying to force a man out of a seat 
in a car that he might occupy it, but the drill and military 
movements he never could get the hang of, and could not 
always remember the commands to give. One day we 
were out on inspection and he wanted to get the company 
through a gap in a rail fence on to the other side where 
the ground was dryer. He would move the men up in line 
of battle, one row behind the other. The right was op- 
posite the gap. The command was "by the right flank, 
file left," but he could not think of it, so he would com- 
mand "right about, march," and we would move back a 
distance and then it would be, right about, march." We 
all knew what was the matter but none dared to help him 
out for he would have been very angry, and so after he 
had marched us up and down before the fence several times, 
he commanded us to "Halt!" and said, "Break ranks, and 
when you form again just form on the other side of that 

d n fence if you please!" 

Our company and company D occupied one barrack 
building. One end of it was partitioned off for the non- 
commissioned officers. I still bunked with them. Henry 
M. Foote had been made a Corporal. He still foraged oc- 
casionally on the hucksters and was as skillful as ever. 
He wanted a furlough and had applied to Captain Young, 
but the furlough was slow in coming. The Captain was an- 
noyed by the loss of some seventeen stands of arms, while in 
front, for which he was responsible. So we were on the look- 
out for them. Foote said to me one morning that he had 
found them and uncovered a gun box and sure enough there 
they were. The Captain was greatly relieved, and Foote got 



his furlough. I said nothing but when I saw that the 
guns and accoutrements were all new, and knowing that a 
new regiment lying near us had just been supplied with 
arms, also that Foote had found the guns at night, I had 
suspicions. But the liability of one Captain was trans- 
ferred to several who could better stand the loss, and the 
war closing soon afterwards the new regiment never had 
occasion to use them and they were probably never missed. 
Captain Young never had any suspicion of any one. If 
he had, he would have started an inquiry which would 
have likely brought trouble to Foote, who acted with the 
best of intentions. Foote never told me where he found 
the guns and I never asked him. 

We lay in Camp Cadwalader during the winter and 
spring of 1865, and it was easy to get a pass into the city. 
There was a considerable distance between the camp and 
the city occupied by a few houses. An old wooden hotel, 
called the Cross Keys, stood by the road side, and the sign 
was two large keys crossed. This neighborhood was dan- 
gerous at night. Bad men called "prairie chickens," would 
knock dovv^n and rob our men when coming home from 
the city usually with heavy loads to carry. I was at a 
theater one night with Norm Bellinger of our company. 
When we left the theater we found that it had been snow- 
ing so hard that all street car traffic had stopped, so we 
started to walk back to camp. It was a long, tiresome walk 
through the deep snow and it was after midnight when we 
got to the Cross Keys. By this time it had stopped snowing 
and there was a moon. I was plowing through the snow 
ahead, Bellinger following me. I saw a woman ahead of me 
who seemed to walk with difficulty. When we were nearly 
up to her she sank down in the snow. I raised her up. She 
had grey hair and seemed old and ill. She said she had been 

90 



begging to get food for her two young daughters who were 
starving, so I told her I would take her home. Norm de- 
murred to this, for he was suspicious. She said "No, leave 
me here. I will soon he asleep and my daughters are prob- 
ably dead by this time." But I was full of sympathy and told 
Norm to go on to camp that I was going home with her. I 
was not suspicious. The only thing I feared was that the 
daughters would die before I got there to get them food. 
Norm said that if I was bound to go he would go too, but 
that he did not like the looks of things. We started. She 
led us down a road to the city and then down an alley to 
a house on the corner and then up a pair of outside stairs 
to the second story. She opened a door and we passed 
into a room poorly furnished. She lit a lamp and mo- 
tioned to me to follow her through another door into a 
room which was lighted only by a window, but I heard 
the latch click as I passed through the door. The woman 
disappeared. I tried the door I had passed through and 
found it locked. Norm called me. I told him that the door 
was locked. It swung towards me. Bellinger was over 
six feet high, weighed about two hundred pounds and was 
as strong as an ox. He backed up to the other side of the 
room and came against that door with his shoulder. It 
fiew off its hinges and he sprawled into the room. We 
ran into the first room out of the outside door and down 
the stairs two at a jump. When we reached the bottom 
we heard voices calling and looking up I saw three or 
four men at the top of the stairs. We went up the alley 
a good deal faster than we came down it, and it was two 
o'clock before we got to camp. We did not tell about this 
adventure. Norm wanted to tell it, but I coaxed him not 
to. Afterwards I remembered that while the old woman 

91 



could not walk in the street without leaning on me she 
went up the stairs without help and had no difficulty in 
keeping in advance of us. I have often observed how 
easy it is to arouse a man's sympathy where there is a 
suffering woman. Had she told me that the old man was 
starving I would probably have found some other way to 
help, but I do not think I would have gone up stairs to see 
the old man starve. 



CHAPTER XXVni. 

Lincoln's Assassination. 

Lee surrendered to Grant in April 1865 and then came 
the assassination of Lincoln. Those were exciting days. 
When Lincoln's body was brought to Philadelphia on his 
way to Springfield, our regiment acted as escort. The people 
had the greatest desire to see him. His casket was placed 
on a high vehicle, trimmed in black and drawn by ten 
black horses all caparisoned with crape, each horse was 
led by a colored man dressed in mourning. It was with 
the greatest difficulty that we kept the crowd from press- 
ing upon the vehicle. Occasionally we were delayed for- 
ten or fifteen minutes. We finally reached Independence 
Hall where his casket was placed on wooden rests, and 
his face exposed to view. It was shrunken and relaxed. 
I had seen him when alive, but his face did not have much 
resemblance to the face I had seen in Washington. All 
night the people poured through Independence Hall pass- 
ing on each side of him until early morning when he was 
taken to Kensington Station. It seems difficult to believe 

92 



that one can have any real grief for a person he has never 
seen, but on this occasion I saw men and women weeping 
and in great grief and sorrow. Lincohi was loved by the 
people as no man in this country has ever been loved. 
Washington was respected and admired but not loved as 
Lincoln was. Many stories of pardons to young soldiers 
were told of him and many of them were true. I do not 
suppose that I can say anything of Lincoln that has not 
been said, and it is not my purpose to try. What I 
want to do is to tell my story in a plain, natural way so 
that those who read it will see in it, practically what has 
happened or may happen to them. My regiment took part 
in General Mead's review. I saw him sitting superb and 
soldierly on his horse as we passed in review. The war 
was over and our regiment was separated. Our company 
went to Harrisburg where we lay under loose discipline 
until we were mustered out of the service in August, 1865. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 
Home Again. 



We went home to find that we were not nearly as 
great heroes when the war closed as we had been during 
the war. The thoughts of the people were again turned to 
farming and other pursuits. I had sent home to my father, 
the pay and bounty received. He had invested it in an 
adjoining small farm and the understanding was that I 
was to stay with my parents and take care of them and 
when they were gone I was to have both farms. I went 
to the Wellsboro Academy during the fall term of 1865, 

93 



The principal was Professor Van Allen, who had two 
assistants, his sister Miss Van Allen and Miss Holland. 
They were good teachers and if I did not learn much it 
w^as not their fault. In the winter I taught the public 
school in the Baldwin School District at twenty dollars a 
month and boarded around among the families who had 
children in school. I got along very well and administered 
the expected corporal punishment and thereby obtained 
the respect and good opinion of the parents. If there was 
not some one whipped in that school for a couple of weeks 
doubts would arise as to the qualifications of the teacher. 
I did not like the spare room where no one slept except 
when company came, but the people were very kind to me. 
I attended the Wellsboro Academy in the spring term, or 
a part of it, and then in early April went home to live there 
during the balance of my life. I was twenty years old. 
If I had married on this resolution I would have been a 
fixture, but fortunately or unfortunately no girl had taken 
sufficient interest in me to cause me to think about mar- 
riage. I started in to make maple sugar on the land that 
had been bought for me. It was very discouraging and 
disagreeable work. The sap did not run very well. It 
rained much of the time. The wood did not burn and no 
matter which side of the fire I was on the smoke blew into 
my eyes. My younger brother, Grier, and I worked a 
whole week carrying sap on sap yokes to boil down into 
syrup. A sap yoke is a hollowed piece of wood resting on 
the shoulders and to each end is suspended a cord and 
hook, then a pail or bucket was hooked on to each hook. 
In this way you could carry two pails filled with sap, easier 
than one by hand. At the end of the week we had two 
large pails of quite thick syrup. I was going home with 
a pail of syrup hooked on to each end of the sap yoke. He 

94 



was carrying the lantern to show me where to step, for it 
was very dark. I stumbled on a root, fell and spilled all 
of the syrup. Here was a whole week's work gone and it 
was discouraging. I began to have some doubts about 
farming, but there was nothing else for me to do, as my 
education was poor. I had not improved my opportunities. 
But summer came and amid the haying, young people and 
country dances I forgot the accident to the maple syrup. 
One night in haying time we all went down to Wellsboro 
in a hay wagon to hear Prof. F. A. Allen, the principal of 
the Mansfield State Normal School lecture on the benefits 
of an education. There were about a dozen couples packed 
in on the loose hay. We had no interest in education, and 
could see no benefit in it. There were songs and stories 
and much laughter on the way. The lecture was in the 
court house. We went just because it gave us an excuse 
for going some where together. I had heard people advo- 
cate the benefits of an education, but they did not interest 
me, and I had never heard Prof. Allen lecture. From the 
first, he held my attention and interest. He closed by say- 
ing that want of money should not prevent any one from 
obtaining an education. He said one could be had at the 
Normal School and if there was any young man or woman 
there, who wanted an education and had no money they 
could come to his room at the hotel the next morning and 
he would show them how to get it without money. I 
had no money. What little I had was invested in the 
farm that had been bought for me. I was much impressed 
with what the Professor said. The next morning I got 
up early and walked to Wellsboro and called upon Pro- 
fessor Allen. I was the only caller. I told him I wanted 
to know how I could go through the Normal School with- 
out money, and he asked me a number of questions. The 

95 



result was that when the Normal School opened in Sep- 
tember I was one of the students. ^ I swept the halls and 
attended to the fires in the building during my first year, 
for my board and tuition. The second year, finding my 
duties interfered too much with my studies the Professor 
took my note for board and tuition. I graduated in June, 
1868, but what a time I had. I was six feet four and one- 
half inches tall. I was put into a class in mental arithmetic 
with little girls and boys. I would not have stayed there 
a week if it had not been for Alice Landis, a girl at the 
Wellsboro Academy, I had learned to like. She was of 
superior mind and a splendid scholar. I had great ad- 
miration and respect for her. She wrote me such letters 
of encouragement that I was ashamed to quit and have 
her say, *T was afraid you were a quitter. Well, there 
is no use of your trying any more. Go back to the farm 
and forget it." And so I hung on and worked. At first 
my work did not seem to do a bit of good. I could not or 
did not acquire the lesson but I got a letter from Alice 
every day and I kept at it. After a while, I found that to 
acquire anything I must empty my mind and thoughts 
of everything else, that one could not fill a pitcher that 
was already full, that to fill it with milk you must first 
pour the water out, and so I gradually began to learn how 
to learn. I got over tlie idea of "What's the use of know- 
ing Latin when no one in the world speaks it," I grew to 
realize that the studies were to discipline the mind, as a 
drill disciplines the soldier. They do not drill in battle 
and they no longer speak Latin in Rome, but study, trains 
and disciplines the mind to do other things. I became 
quite a good student, thanks to Alice Landis. We were 
not in love, neither of us expected to marry the other, but 
she was a natural missionary and she saw in me a first- 

96 



class heathen. In the two years, or elementary course, I 
took also a number of studies in the four years' course. 
There were rriany young men and women in the school 
who had grown up on farms in Bradford, Tioga, and other 
counties. None of them were quite as ignorant as I was, 
but they were not informed on many things. The school 
rented the text books to the students when desired. A 
class in philosophy was organized, and Professor Allen 
taught it. I joined it, with twenty other young men and 
women, among them Loenard Austin. There were not 
books enough to supply each student the first day, but 
Professor Allen distributed what they had and told us to 
borrow from each other. We were to meet the next day 
to recite. "Wells Natural Philosophy" was the text book 
used. The Professor began at the head of the class and asked 
questions. He asked Austin: "What is natural physics?" 
Austin arose and blandly said, "Professor, I had no book 
but I think I can answer that question." "Very well, said 
the professor, "What is natural physics?" "Salts, pills, 
and castor oil," said Austin with evident confidence that 
he had answered the question correctly. After the laughter 
had quieted and Austin saw his mistake he asked to be 
excused from further attendance on the class that day. 

I found many congenial spirits among the students 
at Mansfield: A. D. Wright, Ben Van Dusen, George 
Doane, Harry Jones, Jim McKay, Francis Wright, Lizzie 
Hill, Fannie Climenson, Sue Crandall and many others. 
I formed a very strong friendship for Jim McKay. He 
was a farmer's son from Delaware County. We roomed 
together and slept in the same bed. Our bed-rooms were 
all on the third floor, and the study and recitations rooms 
were on the first and second floor. The Chapel was on the 
second floor. The kitchen, dining room and store rooms 

97 



were on the first floor. There was only one building then. 
This was divided by partition, the girls occupying the east 
half and the boys the west half of the study and sleeping 
rooms. Our sleeping rooms opened into a large central 
room called the morgue. We had to pass through this 
room to get to our sleeping rooms. There was only one 
door into it from the landing at the head of the stairs. Our 
board was cheap in price, quantity, and quality. There 
were a number of tables in the dining room, and each boy 
was seated by a girl to teach him manners. Professor 
Allen allotted the seats. There were about ten persons at 
each table, and we were a very happy family. Many friend- 
ships formed in the dining room grew into courtships and 
subsequently ripened into marriage. The teachers. Pro- 
fessors Allen, Streit, Verrill, Jones, Miss Conard, Miss 
Biggs, and the preceptress, Mrs. Petercilia were all very 
efficient and kind. Mrs. Petercilia was a widow. She had 
taken a degree at a Homeopathic College of Medicine and 
was our Doctor as well as our teacher in some branches. She 
was a short, quick, snappy woman, and looked as if it pained 
her when she smiled. She was strong on decorum and 
propriety, and a good chaperon from a parental view, but 
unpopular with the girls. She had no humor and always 
wore little cork screw curls on each side of her head and 
admitted the age of thirty. She could not have been more 
than fifty. Probably much nearer that than thirty. There 
were about two hundred students half of whom were girls. 
Mansfield was a healthy place but there were always some 
students sick. John Angle was very ill with Typhoid 
Fever. For some time it was thought he would not re- 
cover. In the early part of the winter Jim McKay and I 
from eating too many buckwheat cakes, our principal 
breadfood, and too much dried apple sauce, our principal 

98 



dessert, had an itchy trouble and from home experience 
we thought we recognized it. We did not consult Dr. 
Petercilia. We were both allopathists and doubted that 
homeopathy had any remedy for our complaint. Besides, 
we had full faith in an ointment which our mothers made 
out of brimstone, turpentine, red porcipita, rosin, lard, and 
other things not palatable or fragrant. I never knew the 
pharmacy name for it, but it was called at home and in the 
neighborhood where it was popular "Itch Ointment." It 
was rubbed pretty fully over the skin, in a hot room, and 
would surely rout the itch, and other members of the family. 
It was all right when two only slept in a room and both 
had it, but if one only had it he had to have a room alone. 
We both wrote home to our mothers for some of this oint- 
ment. We soon got over our scratches and forgot all about 
the ointment. At Christmas Jim's mother sent him a box 
of a number of good things to eat. There was a roast 
turkey, two roast chickens, mince pies, pies of several kind, 
bread, butter, cake and several kinds of jelly in little cups 
and jars with brown paper tied around their tops. Our 
room was popular while this lasted. John Angle was slow- 
ly getting better, and Mrs. Petercilia announced one morn- 
ing at chapel that Mr. Angle was on the road to recovery, 
but was very weak, that if any of the students had any little 
delicacies from home for him it would be acceptable. After 
chapel was over Jim fished out of the box two or three 
jars of jelly and we took them up to Angle. Mrs. Peter- 
cilia opened the door of his room to our quiet knock. 
There lay poor Angle on his back with a face as white as 
the sheet. He could just recognize us by a look. Jim 
handed Mrs. Petercilia the jars. She tore off the paper 
cover of one and put some of the contents on the end of 
a case knife. Angle opened his mouth and she gave it to 

99 



him. Soon hit face showed great distress and disgust. 
Mrs. Petercilia seized the jar and said, "What is that?" 
Jim looked at the jar, when he too showed great surprise, 
exclaiming "By thunder, that is my itch ointment !" She 
reported us to the faculty, but we being guilty of no evil 
intent and Angle surviving the incident we were only cau- 
tioned to be very careful in the future, but for sometime 
after that when Mrs. Petercilia saw us her nose turned 
up just a trifle. She had very little to say to us and never 
referred to our visit to her patient. She had a right to be 
disgusted, for we were too. The dried apple dessert came 
every night at dinner about six o'clock. A teacher or 
some trusted monitor of the faculty sat at the head 
of the table. We could say nothing, but if looks would 
have soured apple sauce there would have been a break 
in the vinegar market. It was talked about in our 
rooms. Something had to be done. It was not Professor 
Allen's fault; the trustees furnished the food. They had 
bought up all of the dried apples in the vicinity and they 
had to feed them to somebody. The third floor was 
reached by a long, wide stairway, starting just at Professor 
Verrill's door, and he was in charge of the boys who were 
responsible to him for their conduct. There was an out- 
side rail to the stairs. When he heard a racket on the 
third floor he would slip his feet into a pair of carpet slip- 
pers and step softly upstairs in his night shirt without 
any light, guiding his steps by his hand on the stair rail. 
He could be among us before we knew it and some thought 
it was not fair and that we should have some notice of his 
approach. Besides, he was not liked very much. He had 
red hair and was too popular on the other side of the 
building and he and the apple sauce were our principal 
grounds of grievance. It was Jim McKay's fertile mind 

100 



that relieved the difficulty. He and several other daring 
spirits went down into the kitchen after midnight. They 
found a tin clothes boiler two-thirds full of the apple sauce. 
They quietly brought it upstairs and smeared the stair- 
rail with it, leaving the tin boiler on the stairs about two- 
thirds of the way up. Then they went up to the third 
floor and started a noisy row. Out came Verrill and he 
started on his mission of investigation. He got up as far 
as the tin boiler where he fell over it and rolled and tum- 
bled with it to the foot of the stairs. Hearing the noise 
we ran down to light the lamp and help him. He was a 
pretty sight. His red hair, which was thought so pretty 
by the other side of the house, and his whiskers were full 
of apple sauce, as was his nightshirt. He had fallen on the 
boiler and flattened it. He was not hurt much, but he was 
mad, and went into his room and slammed the door. Out- 
side of his room the verdict of satisfaction was unanimous. 
Verrill was a proud, haughty high stepper, and we knew 
there would be a prompt investigation. We held a whis- 
pered consultation in which secrecy and "never tell' was 
pledged. Fortunately, no one but the criminals knew who 
was in it. Next morning at chapel after the girls had been 
dismissed the court-martial began. Professor Allen in a 
grave, sad voice, addressed us, and said the outrage to 
Professor Verrill was one that could not be overlooked. 
The perpetrator must be punished. He hated to lose Pro- 
fessor Verril, for he was a good teacher. He appealed to 
our patriotism, our manhood, and everything else that he 
thought would influence us, but there was no response. 
He then asked that all who did not have a hand in the 
affair rise. We all stood up. He then asked that any one 
who knew anything about it rise. No one got up. We 
had been through this fire drill before. He then turned 

101 



to Professor Verrill who sat there, his hair and eyes snap- 
ping with anger. He jumped up and said "Professor Allen 
has appealed to your patriotism and manhood, I will ap- 
peal to your cupidity." He took a ten dollar bill out of 
his pocket and said, I will give ten dollars to any one who 
will name a person who had a hand in this outrage. After 
a pause Roll Moore slowly got up. There were six pairs 
of eyes that looked daggers at him. He was the one who 
smeared the apple sauce on the stairrail. He said, "Pro- 
fessor, my mother is a poor woman. She works hard to 
send me to school. I have never earned anything to help 
her. Ten dollars would be of great help to her. I know 
who had a hand in this outrage." "Name him," said Ver- 
rill. Moore stepped up to the platform and Professor Ver- 
rill gave him the money. "Name him," cried Verrill. 
"Well," says Moore, "from all accounts Professor I think 
that you had a hand in it." We were hastily dismissed. 
For several days there were frequent secret sessions of 
the faculty. Then one morning Professor Allen said, noth- 
ing would come by publicity. It would probably embar- 
rass Professor Verrill more to have the story get out than 
to have the parties punished, and said that if we would 
promise to. say nothing about it, the matter would be 
dropped. We all readily promised by a unanimous rising 
vote. Roll Moore kept the money. Verrill never asked 
him to return it. There was nothing yellow about Verrill. 
He just had red hair with all its accompaniments. He 
was a good teacher — a very good mathematician. 

When spring came and the nights were warm Pro- 
fessor Verrill would move his bed up to the third story 
and put it in front of the open door leading into the morgue. 
The boys could not get under it and could not get over it 
without wakening him. There was a large, black cat that 

102 



Professor Verrill fed and protected and because of this, 
she probably needed more protection than she otherwise 
would have needed. Jim McKay got four large walnuts and 
dug out the meat and shell inside through holes in the tops, 
and with strings fastened them on the cat's feet and smug- 
gled her into our bedroom. There were no carpets on the 
morgue floor, stairs or halls. About midnight he let her 
go. As usual, she went straight to Professor Verrill. Her 
feet with the dry shells on the hard wood floors made as 
much noise as a running horse. She sprang on Professor 
Verrill and he, not knowing what it was, yelled out in 
fright. She sprang on to the floor on the other side through 
the open door and went thumping down the stairs. The 
noise wakened all the boys who started in pursuit of her, 
Verrill and Jim leading the search. They chased the noise 
down the stairs, across the hall, down the lower stairs and 
through the halls. She was black and it was dark. They 
could not see her, but the noise and clatter were great. 
After much chasing they caught her, got a light and found 
the walnuts on her feet. The whole school was aroused. 
The girls were peeping down the stairs from their side, and 
it was sometime before the house was quiet. There was 
much quiet inquiry, but only Jim and I knew and we did 
not tell. The cat never could be coaxed into our room 
again. She would always look at her feet and raise her 
hair when she saw Jim. In the next fall term George Rex- 
ford came to the school. He had lost a leg in the army, 
amputated far above the knee. He hobbled around on 
one crutch, and on the bare floors he made a good deal of 
noise, that was especially annoying to a nervous man like 
Verrill. Rexford was a good, natural fun-loving soul and 
it amused him to see Verrill annoyed at him. Verrill had 

103 



married during the vacation. His wife was consumptive, 
and her father was rich. One day Rexford lost his balance 
going down the stairs and stumbled and rolled landing 
on his back in front of Verrill's room. Verrill rushed out 
and seeing Rexford there said, "Rexford what on earth do 
you want." Rexford grinned and said "I want to marry 
a rich man's daughter with a bad cough." Professor Ver- 
rill was not influenced to marry her by her father's wealth 
or her cough. They became engaged years before when 
she was well, and it was her wish that they should be 
married. She lived only a year or two after their marriage. 
Verrill never got any of her father's wealth, never expected 
nor asked for any of it. He was hasty and jerky in his 
manner, impatient with students who were indifferent to 
progress, but when he saw a student trying earnestly, he 
was very appreciative and kind. I owe him much and 
thought highly of him. I was glad years after that op- 
portunity enabled me to help him to a position that re- 
lieved him from want and made his declining years peace- 
ful and happy. At commencement in June, 1868 I was one 
of those students to deliver an address. I chose Thaddeus 
Stevens for my subject. I admired him for the great serv- 
ice that he had rendered the country in his support of 
Lincoln in Congress. I do not remember much about the 
address, but I do remember that I was criticised and ridi- 
culed by the local Democratic newspapers. Probably 
justly. My public utterances were very crude afTairs in 
those days. 



104 



CHAPTER XXX. 
Wellsboro. 

After commencement I went to Wellsboro and tried 
to get a clerkship in the stores, and groceries there, but 
I did not succeed. I was very tall. The. ceilings in the 
stores were not very high, and the merchants hung many 
of their wares on hooks and nails from the ceiling. I had 
to dodge around them and one merchant said that if he 
employed me he would have to remove all of these things 
and he did not know where to put them. Others probably 
thought the same. I met Jerome B. Niles, a lawyer, whom 
I knew at Mansfield. He asked me what I was going to 
do. I said I did not know. I told him of my efforts to get 
a clerkship. He asked me to come into his office and study 
law. He suggested that I apply for the Wellsboro Acad- 
emy, that I could teach during the day and study law 
nights, that Judge Williams was one of the trustees and that 
I should see him. I saw the Judge and he encouraged me 
to apply. I did so, and was given permission by the trus- 
tees to teach at the Wellsboro Academy. That is, it was 
turned over to me. There had been no school there for 
several years. I paid no rent or royalty. I got Miss Delia 
Rouse to assist me, as she was a very capable teacher. We 
advertised for students, and to my surprise when school 
opened there were quite a number of students. I charged a 
moderate tuition. I was my own janitor, and swept the 
rooms and kept the fires. I registered as a student at law 
with S. F. Wilson and Jerome B. Niles, taught school 
through the day and studied law at night. Most of the 
students were not very far advanced and I found no dififi- 

105 



culty with them. But there was one, a farmer's son, who 
rode in from the farm on horseback, who gave me much 
trouble. Clarence Gorrie was a wonder. He was a natural 
mathematician and studied algebra, geometry, and trigo- 
nometry. He was the only one in his class of higher mathe- 
matics. I had to study his lessons nights to be able to hear 
him recite. He kept me busy, for I had never seen anyone 
like him. He had no trouble, but I did. I did not wish to 
show ignorance before him and I just had to hustle. All 
through the fall, winter, and spring term I studied mathe- 
matics harder than he did. He never suspected me. He 
should have been the teacher, I the pupil, and really that was 
our position. I expected him to become a teacher and fill a 
chair in some college. Years afterward I met him. He was 
a small, plain farmer, happy and contented with his life. His 
mathematics did him no good. After my experience with 
him I could better appreciate Gray's Elegy of a Country 
Church Yard. With the close of the spring term my occu- 
pation as a teacher ceased. I may have been influenced 
by the fear that Clarence Gorrie would come back to my 
school. I should have been grateful to him for I learned 
more mathematics from him than I had learned from any- 
one, but I was not a teacher. I had become interested in 
the law and found a liking for it. Jim McKay came from 
the west where he had been working in the construction 
of the Union Pacific Railroad and entered the office as a 
fellow student. He had a wonderful story of being cap- 
tured by the Indians and tied to the stake, but before they 
kindled the fire, he was rescued by the Chief's daughter, 
who finally aided him to escape. He showed scars which 
he claimed were knife cuts made by the Indians. He was 
quite popular with the young people and was the same 

106 



good fun-loving fellow. The fact that I did not believe his 
stories made no difference in our friendship. In tlie winter 
of 1869 and 1870 Wilson and Niles were both absent. Wil- 
son in Congress and Niles in the Legislature. McKay and 
I ran the office with the help of Gus Streeter from West- 
field, who came over to look after the practice while Wilson 
and Niles were away. He was a congenial, kind-hearted 
man. His specialty was divorce, and he claimed to be quite 
successful in that practice. There were several young men 
studying law in Wellsboro, James H. Bosard, Walter Sher- 
wood and others. We sometimes tried cases before Alex. 
Brewster the Justice of the Peace, and other justices in the 
county. We were not admitted to the bar, but no one 
objected. Walter Sherwood and I represented Sam Maine 
in a suit brought by him against Dan Ashley for the value 
of a shoat or pig which Ashley had taken up as a stray 
under an old statute which provided that a trespassing pig 
whose owner was unkonwn and who had no registered 
mark upon him could be taken up and penned and, after 
several weeks' notice posted on a tree at the nearest cross- 
road, could be butchered and retained by the person taking 
him up. Jim Bosard tried the case for Ashley. The suit 
was before Squire Dick Kinney at Kinneysville. Ashley 
knew whose pig it was, but claimed that he did not. It 
developed on the trial that there had been difficulty be- 
tween Maine and Ashley before. Bosard relied much on 
legal authorities and had several books with him when the 
trial began. A large number of witnesses were subpoenaed 
upon both sides. The pig was worth about three dollars. 
There were numerous arguments on relevancy of testi- 
mony during the trial. Bosard had the advantage. We 
had no books. A law book bound in leather has much 
influence before a Justice of the Peace, whether the case 

107 



recited has any relevancy to the matter in dispute or not. 
The Squire was very dignified and talked in grave, formal 
tones which seemed to impress the audience. After we 
had examined about a dozen witnesses, mostly as to the 
value of the pig, Bosard opened his defense and called four- 
teen witnesses or two more than we had called. I noticed 
that the Squire wrote down on a piece of foolscap paper the 
name of each witness as he was sworn, and after he left 
the stand he would seem to reflect and then make some 
marks. Passing behind him and glancing over his shoulder, 
I saw that he had crossed out each name but two of the 
defendant's witnesses. We called three more witnesses 
in rebuttal and won the case. The squire said that the 
weight of testimony was with the plaintiff. After the trial 
I said to the Squire that his plan of cancellation to deter- 
mine the weight of testimony was a good one. He said 
he found it so. We won the case by a majority of one. 
After that I lost no cases before Squire Kinney. We did 
not get much for our service, which was the principal rea- 
son why we were employed. We were pettyfoggers, but 
there were others who had not studied law. Michael Mc- 
Mahon was quite noted. Sometimes we tried cases before 
arbitrators. Either party could take a rule upon the other 
to arbitrate the case. At the return of the rule each party 
v/ould select a man and these would select a third. We 
had such a case at the Blockhouse, a Dutch village some 
twenty miles from Wellsboro. The plaintiff claimed one 
hundred and fifty dollars for a horse sold the defendant. 
The defendant claimed that the price was one hundred 
dollars ; after much testimony and more argument the 
arbitrators retired. Two of them had been on the jury 
at the county seat. After being out a long time the arbi- 
trators filed into the room where all the men and boys 

108 



in the village had been impatiently waiting for them. They 
seemed in a bewildered and dejected state and looked as 
if something serious had happened to them. They handed 
the award to the defendant's attorney. It was thirty-one 
dollars and twenty-five cents for the plaintiff. Every one 
was surprised. The plaintiff asked his arbitrator how they 
came to find such an award. He said "that beats me. We 
figured it and figured it and it came out that way every 
time," "but how did you figure it," said the plaintiff. 
"Why, we all marked and added it up and divided it by 
twelve, just as they always do. I've been on the jury. I 
marked one hundred and fifty. The defendant's man 
marked one hundred. The third man split the difference and 
marked one hundred and twenty-five, and we added these 
three sums up and divided the result by twelve. Figure it 
for yourself. If it doesn't come out thirty-one dollars and 
twenty-five cents I'll eat my hat. We knew there was 
something wrong with it, but danged if we could tell what." 
The winters were long and the weather very cold in 
Wellsboro, much more so than in other parts of the state, 
probably to oblige the people who mostly came from states 
farther north. There was no railroad to the town. A stage 
coach brought the news once a day from Tioga, seventeen 
miles away. There were no traveling shows or minstrels, 
and we had to depend on home talent for entertainment. A 
lawsuit was -generally tried at night before Squire Brew- 
ster, so that all could attend, who desired. The audience 
was always large. For weeks farmers had missed pork, 
hams, chickens, turkeys, and grain in Middlebury Town- 
ship. Suspicion settled on Cal Cady and his son-in-law 
John Johnson. They did not work and had no visible 
means of support. They were arrested on general sus- 
picion and I defended them. Bosard was attorney for the 

109 



prosecution. Walter Sherwood helped me, as we generally 
worked together in law as well as politics. He was a Demo- 
crat, I a Republican. We helped each other. There was 
a good audience before Squire Brewster when the case 
of Commonwealth vs. Cady and Johnson was called. A 
search of their house revealed nothing. The neighbors 
proved their losses, but there was no evidence connecting 
the defendants with them. One neighbor had lost a brass 
kettle. It was found in a neighboring barnyard covered 
with loose hay. There was much curiosity as to how the 
kettle got there. It was discussed by the attorneys upon 
both sides. There were crude notions of law among the 
people called curbstone law. They understood that a man 
could not be put in jeopardy twice for the same offense. 
Johnson was rather proud of his dexterity in aiding the 
missing things to disappear. The Squire discharged the 
defendants. Johnson thought he had been once in jeopardy 
and was immune from further arrest. He stood up and 
said, "Now% if you want to know how that brass kettle got 
there I can tell you." That remark cost the defendants and 
their friends two hundred and fifty dollars. They were 
rearrested and had to pay for everything missed in the 
neighborhood at prices estimated by the owners. 

We had a literary society or debating club called the 
Hermaic Society. Hugh Young was president of it. Major 
Merrick had become a lawyer, and he, Walter Sherwood, 
James H. Bosard, Charles Peck, E. B. Young, Jim Mc- 
Kay, and I and others were members. We debated many 
important questions of public interest in the court house. 
The audience would decide on the best arguments made. 
We would choose sides. The President would select the 
chiefs, one to uphold the affirmative and one the negative. 
Then each chief would alternately select a debater until 

110 



our members were all chosen. The town was deeply in- 
terested in women's suffrage. Mrs. Woodhull and Olive 
Logan had both lectured in Wellsboro on the question. 
The women were aroused and manifested as much interest 
and zeal then as they do now. The men were as indifferent 
to the question then as they are now. The Hermaic So- 
ciety decided to settle the question in a public debate at 
the court house on a Saturday evening. Major Merrick 
was chief for the atlirmative of the resolution, "Resolved 
that women should have the legal right to vote." I was 
chief for the negative. After the debates were over the 
women were to decide by a rising vote which side had 
the weight of the argument. It looked pretty blue for my 
side, but then as now the claims for women suffrage were 
presented by a very few women and I had hopes that when 
it came to a vote there might not be a majority for it. The 
court house was filled with men and women. Hugh Young 
presided. Merrick led oft' with a strong plea for sufl'rage. 
He closed amid great applause from the women. I fol- 
lowed, but I observed that nearly all of my applause came 
from the men. Then Merrick called one of his side, then 
I called one of mine. My debaters did not speak as vigor- 
ously as they did at our room. They got no applause 
from the women and very little from the men whose ap- 
plause subsided when they sav/ that the women only ap- 
plauded Merrick's speakers. When our debaters were all 
through Merrick called Squire Emery, not a member, to 
speak for the resolution. I thought my case was lost. I 
could see no one whom I thought would speak for my 
side. No one volunteered in response to my request. 
Finally, I saw Steve Wilson on the back seat. Congress 
had adjourned. I did not know what his views on the 
question were, but I thought that because I was a student 

111 



in his office he might help me out. The ground was slip- 
ping from under me. The women were laughing at my 
plight and in desperation I called the Hon. S. F. Wilson. 
The women laughed and applauded. Wilson was a bache- 
lor. He got up and slowly said : "I did not expect to be 
called to speak on this question, I don't know whether I 
am for it or against it. I never could see any good reason 
why a good woman should not have the right to vote if 
she wants to, and I never could see any reason why a 
gander should not set on eggs if he wants to. I have never 
seen a gander set and I never expect to see a woman vote." 
The women were angry. The applause was loud from the 
men. I called the question but the women were so mad 
that not one of them would vote and the audience was dis- 
missed. There were geese in town and every one knew 
their habits. After that the women did not speak so loud 
nor so often for suffrage and before summer came the 
agitation was over. Wilson's brief speech suppressed 
women suffrage in Wellsboro as quickly and effectively 
as the European War suppressed it in England. I do not 
intend to say much about other people except where they 
have come into my life, but I cannot refrain from speaking 
briefly of Stephen F. Wilson. He was probably the finest 
specimen of physical manhood that I have ever seen. He 
was just the right height and weight and had a manly, 
firm face, full of love and sympathy for everybody. He 
was absolutely honest and true to friendship, despised 
deceit and crooked ways. He had a charm that won every- 
body. He drank to excess and was frequently seen on 
the streets intoxicated. Tioga County was strong for 
temperance. There were good templers societies in all 
the towns, but for many years whenever he wanted the 
votes of Tioga County he always could get a majority of 

112 



them. The people spoke of his habit in sympathy and 
sorrow, never in anger. Financially broke, nearly all of 
the time, he yet had the confidence and love of the people 
of Tioga County beyond that of any other man. He 
blundered into a great temperance meeting on the green 
in a large tent one night without knowing just where he 
was, for he was pretty drunk. When the audience saw him 
they began to cheer and call upon him for a speech. Some 
thought he had come there to sign the pledge. He began 
to realize where he was, and in response to the continued 
calls of the audience, said, "Mr. Chairman, I do not know 
why I am here, nor how I got here. I was on my way to 
Watkins' Saloon, but I observe that this is a temperance 
meeting and I am in full sympathy with it. I am a temper- 
ance man drunk or sober." That illustrates Wilson. No 
matter what his environment or the conditions surrounding 
him he would always ring true to his conscience and judg- 
ment. He was afterwards elected judge and when he was 
able to officiate he was a splendid judge. After setting 
aside a verdict in ejectment once, he remarked, "It takes 
thirteen men in this court to steal a man's farm. The plain- 
tiff only has twelve." 

There were temperance meetings, temperance lodges 
and societies and temperance orators in those days. I 
have heard John B. Goff, Francis Murphy, and others. 
They were eloquent and their appeals for sobriety were 
masterly. But the greatest and best of all appeals to tem- 
perance was that of Judge Alfred W. Arrington of Ottawa, 
Illinois, who before he became a lawyer was a Methodist 
preacher. He was announced to preach at a famous spring 
where plenty of good liquor was promised to all who would 
attend. During the sermon a desperado demanded, "where 
is the liquor you promised." "There," thundered Arrington 

113 



pointing to a spring gushing up in two strong columns 
from the bosom of the earth with a sound like a shout of 
joy, "There, there is the liquor which God, the Eternal, 
brews for all of his Children. Not in the simering still 
over the smoky fires, choked with poisonous gases, sur- 
rounded with stench of sickening odors and corruptions, 
doth your Father in Heaven prepare the precious essence 
of life — pure, cold water, but in the green glade and grassy 
dell, where the red deer wanders and the child loves to 
play, there God brews it ; and down, low down in the deepest 
valleys, where the fountains murmur, and the rills sigh, 
and high upon the mountain tops, where the naked granite 
glitters like gold in the sun, where the storm cloud broods 
and the thunder storms crash, and far out on the wide, 
wild sea, where the hurricane howls music and the big 
waves roll the chorus, sweeping the march of God — there, 
he brews it, the beverage of life, health-giving water, and 
everywhere it is a thing of life and beauty — gleaming in 
the dew drop ; singing in the summer rain ; shining in the 
icy gem till the trees all seem turned to living jewels; 
spreading a golden veil over the sun or a white gauze 
around the midnight moon; sporting in the glacier; fold- 
ing its bright snow curtain softly about the wintry world ; 
and weaving the many colored bow whose warp is the 
rain drops of earth, whose woof is the sunbeam of Heaven, 
all checkered over with the mystic hand of refraction- 
still it is beautiful, that blessed life water! No poisonous 
bubbles are on its brink ; its foam brings not murder and 
madness ; no blood stains its liquid glass ; pale widows and 
starvmg orphans vi^eep not burning tears into its depths ; 
no drunkards — shrieking ghost from the grave curses it 
in a world of eternal despair. Beautiful, pure, blessed, and 



114 



glorious. Speak out, my friend, would you exchange it for 
the demon's drink, alcohol?" 

While at Mansfield I became acquainted with Ellen 
Stevens a student there. Her father was a farmer in 
Middlebury Township on the toll plank road from Wells- 
boro to Tioga village, twelve miles from Wellsboro. We 
became engaged to be married. On the fourth of July, 
1870, I hired an old worthless mare from Bob Ketcham 
the livery man, with a wagon and harness no better than 
the mare, and went down to Mrs. Stevens to spend 
the Fourth with Ellen. I got this rig for nothing. 
No one else would have it and while I did, it saved her 
board. Ellen was a sensible girl. It was me she wanted 
to see, not the mare and as I drove down at night when the 
crows were all to roost it did not matter. There was to be 
fire works at Wellsboro. I had contributed towards it and 
as I was starting away the boys put some of the fire works 
in the box under the wagon seat. There were Roman 
candles, sky rockets, pin wheels, etc. I knew about them, 
but I forgot all about them until I had gone part way 
home. I had had great difficulty in urging the mare to 
faster travel than a walk. It was a beautiful moonlight 
night. I had matches and taking out the fireworks I began 
to set them off. The old mare went to sleep, so I did not 
tie her. She always seconded the motion to stop, and was 
not afraid of anything. It was about two o'clock in the 
morning. I lighted a sky rocket, instead of going up in 
the air as it was supposed to do, it took a meadow snipe 
course and shied under the old mare and exploded there. 
The mare started, I had never known her to refuse to stop 
instantly at the word "whoa," but she refused this time. 
On she went. I chased her calling "whoa !" but she would 
not stop. She was outrunning me. It was ten miles to 

115 



Wellsboro. I could never get up to her. I hoped old Hall 
who kept the tollgate would hear her and let down the 
gate. He always heard us while I was in the wagon, but 
he did not that night, and I never caught up to the beast 
until she stopped in front of the livery stable in Wellsboro. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

Admitted to the Bar and Married. 

When the September Court came in 1870 I applied 
for admission to the bar. The court appointed a com- 
mittee to examine me. We met about ten o'clock and my 
examination did not seem satisfactory to the committee. 
When we adjourned at luncheon one of them remarked that 
I did not seem to understand the rules. I asked him what 
rules. He said that I had better ask one recently admitted, 
and I did so. When we met in the afternoon, they found that 
I had complied with the rules. There was whiskey and 
cigars and when we adjourned I wrote my own certificate 
and guided the pen of one of them while he signed it. I 
was found fit to practice law by a unanimous vote and was 
admitted and took the oath. Ellen Stevens and I were 
married soon after my admission to the bar and we began 
housekeeping in Wellsboro. There was more litigation 
in Tioga County then than there is now, but there was 
very little business for young lawyers. I kept a cow and 
had a garden, and my wife dild most of the work in the house. 
I milked the cow, split the wood, and worked the garden. 
In 1871, I think, the railroad was completed to Wellsboro. 

116 



This had been an event long looked for. Fred Bunnel had 
declared that the railroad would make Wellsboro a sea- 
port town and many believed it. It was decided that the 
event should be properly celebrated. The principal pro- 
moters and ov/ners of the road were the Magee family 
of Nev^' York. A day was set and great preparations 
made. Governor Horatio Seymour of New York was to 
deliver the address. Subscriptions were made for a dinner 
and necessary expenses, and for the first time at a public 
dinner in Wellsboro, champagne was to be served. Every 
one in the county was invited, and many people came. The 
band had practised for two Aveeks. Gen. Geo. Magee, 
'President of the road, was the hero of the day, and the band 
was to play "Hail to the Chief", for him. A platform some 
twenty feet square was erected near the station, with seats 
for the speakers and invited guests. The sheriff, Ed. Fish, 
was the Marshall, with some dozen aides. I was an aid. 
We had large, wide, red sashes over our shoulders. When 
the train came in there was great applause. The platform 
was occupied, and the Marshall ordered me to clear it, but I 
had some trouble. I explained that it was for the speakers 
and invited guests. I got them all off but one old man 
with a cane, who refused to go. Said he was an invited 
guest and he could speak, too. Seeing the procession com- 
ing I wasted no more words, but seized the old fellow, 
wrenched the cane from him, threw it off the platform, and 
shoved him after it. He swore at me, but his noise was 
drowned by the band. The speeches were good. The 
singing by the girls dressed to represent the different states 
was very good, for they had been well drilled by Dr. Webb. 
Then we adjourned to the Cone house, now the Coles 
house, where an excellent dinner was served, with cham- 
pagne. Many men at that dinner had never tasted it be- 

117 



fore. I had often heard my wife talk of Uncle Jason Smith, 
a well-to-do farmer living over on the Eastern border of 
the county. He was a widower, had no children, or 
nephews, and my wife was his favorite niece. There was 
talk about his willing the farm to her. He was said to be 
eccentric and peculiar, but he was fond of my wife and 
we could overlook his peculiarities. I had never seen him. 
When the dinner was over I went up to the house. There 
was a stranger there. My wife introduced him as Uncle 
Jason. He was the old man I had shoved off the platform. 
I bolted out of the house and did not come back until he 
had gone. He had been telling her of the scoundrel who 
had misused him and my wife had heartily sympathized 
with him. We did not get the farm, and I never saw or 
heard of Uncle Jason after that. 

Wellsboro had many strange characters who seemed 
to glory in the fact that they were queer. Old Allen Dag- 
gett was a Forty-niner who had crossed the plains in 1849 
during the gold craze and had seen many hardships. He 
had been a candidate for sheriff of. Tioga County several 
times. He called on me, for we had not previously met. He 
was a tall, lean man all bone and muscle, and wore a long 
linen duster, a wide-brimmed straw hat, a pair of long- 
legged boots with his trousers tucked in them. He talked 
to me about the sheriff's campaign. I said "there is no 
use, my sympathy is with the forty-niner." He said "that's 
me." He was satisfied. His opponent was Ed. Fish. He 
belonged to the Methodist Church — The Masons — The Odd 
Fellows — The Sons of Temperance. Allen Daggett had 
not joined any of these societies. He was a forty-niner and 
while he was the only forty-niner in the county it made 
no difference. A forty-niner was a forty-niner. We had 

118 



the Crawford County system. Each voter voted at the 
primaries for the Candidate he preferred. The election 
officers simply counted and certified the votes that each 
candidate got. The candidate receiving the largest vote 
was declared nominated by the convention. A few days 
before election Hi Hastings, Fred Wright. John Bailey 
Will Kress, Jim McKay, Allen Daggett and I were in 
Ed Brewster's meat shop. The Republican vote of the 
county was about three thousand. Wright asked Dag- 
gett of his prospects. He said he was sure to be 
nominated. He said he had over two thousand pledges. 
Wright who was a Democrat said "Allen I will bet you ten 
dollars that you don't get two hundred votes." Allen had 
conducted a very economical campaign, but had cozened 
and visited over the county. His total outlay was about 
ten dollars, and he thought he would surely get more than 
two hundred votes and get his ten dollars back. He drew 
out a tin tobacco box and raised the lid. There was a 
yellow piece of plug tobacco and a ten-dollar bill in it about 
as yellow as the tobacco. He said, "I will take that bet." 
Wright produced ten dollars and Ed Brewster took the 
money as stakeholder. Election passed and Allen Daggett 
got about one hundred and fifty votes. Fish got the rest. 
After it was all over we gathered in Ed. Brewster's butcher 
shop. Daggett was there. Brewster said Wright had won 
the bet and he was ready to pay the stakes over to him. 
Daggett got up slowly from the meat block where he sat. 
He said, "Yes, I have lost the bet. I reckon Brewster must 
pay the money over to Wright. I am disappointed. There 
were only about three thousand votes polled. I had two 
thousand pledges. Well, boys, I may never run for sheriff 
again, but I may and if I do I will win. I will join the 
Methodist Church. I will join the Masons, I will join the 

119 



Odd Fellows. I will join the Sons of Temperance, and I 
will join the Sons of Bitches. That is what nominated 
Fish." 

Politics interested all of the younger lawyers at the 
bar. Henry M. Foote had become a lawyer, and John W. 
Mathers, Horace Packer and others were lawyers. Henry 
W. Williams was the judge, John I. Mitchell, M. F. Elliott, 
Henry Sherwood, Wni. Smith, Capt. John Shaw, and others 
were lawyers. Gen. R. C. Cox was appointed General of 
the Thirteenth Division of the National Guard and I was 
appointed Adjutant General with the rank of Lieut. Colonel. 
I never got a uniform but did get the name of colonel 
which has clung to me ever since. General Cox attained 
the highest rank of any man from Tioga County in the 
Civil War. His son Henry and I were great friends. John 
H. Shearer, Henry Cox and I often fished together. We 
knew every trout stream in the county. They were splen- 
did fly fisherman, and Henry and I fished together every sea- 
son until he died in 1915. Shearer died long before that. 
The Odd Fellows lodge to which Jim Bosard, Hugh 
Young, Walter Sherwood, and many others belonged was 
a kind of a social club, and we had much fun with John 
Wortendyke and Moses Yale and Chandler who took the 
order seriously. Col. Gregg of Center County came to 
Wellsboro and spent a year there. He had been colonel 
of the 45th Pennsylvania Volunteers in which regiment 
were a good many Tioga County men. The Colonel was 
very popular and was invited to deliver addresses in many 
places in the county. It pleased him. He was a rabid 
Republican, and very profane. He was very sincere and 
could not bear the interruptions of Democrats in his meet- 
ings. He was to deliver an address at Mainsburg near 
Mansfield on the Fourth of July. He prepared it with 

120 



great care. He had much in it about General Jackson and 
the Battle of New Orleans. In the midst of his work he 
hurriedly put on his coat and went down town to see Hugh 
Young who was an authority on history and general liter- 
ature. Hugh kept the bookstore, was a Justice of the 
Peace and Postmaster. He asked Hugh how old General 
Jackson was when he fought the Battle of New Orleans. 
Hugh said he did not know. He would look it up, but he 
asked the Colonel why he wished to know. "Why," said 
the Colonel, "I am to deliver the oration at Mainsburg on 
the Fourth and I have a good deal to say about General 
Jackson and the Battle of New Orleans." "But why do 
you wish to know how old he was when the Battle was 
fought"? asked Plugh. "Suppose, said the colonel, some 
d — n Democrat should get up and ask me that question I 
want to be prepared to answer him." 

Pat Donahue lived next door to Jim Bosard. Pat's 
house was set on the rear end of his lot. Jim was con- 
structing a chicken coop on the rear end of his lot and 
Pat thought it would shut off the light to his house. He 
could not get Jim to change his plan and went from one 
lawyer to another to get them to file a bill against Bosard. 
None of them liked to take a case against a fellow attorney 
and Pat could not get any one to take his case; when the 
last lawyer refused Pat's patience was exhausted. "You're 
a d — n pretty set. You won't take a case against your 
own sex." He hurried home. Jim was at work at his 
chicken coop. Pat pulled off his coat and there was a 
fight. When Jim got around again he was persuaded by 
the other lawyers not to prosecute Pat for assault and 
battery. They all felt a little ashamed of it for Pat should 
have had his opportunity in court. There was very little 
sympathy for Bosard, who had told Pat that he could 

121 



not get a lawyer to take a case against him. Jim was 
pretty badly battered up and his face was ornamented with 
court plaster for a time, but no bones were broken and 
he soon got over it, but the chicken coop was abandoned. 
In the legislature of 1872 I was appointed transcrib- 
ing clerk by John I. Mitchell who had been elected a mem- 
ber. I passed the winter in Harrisburg very pleasantly, and 
I roomed with Mitchell. He became a recognized leader 
and was afterwards Congressman, United States Senator, 
and Judge of Tioga County, and the Superior Court of the 
State. I learned some politics there. Simon Cameron was in 
the United States Senate and Robert Mackey and M. S. 
Quay were his recognized lieutenants. Reciprocity was rec- 
ognized and men who ceased to be able to deliver delegates 
were rewarded for what they had done. Now rewards are 
rarely given except for what you are expected to do. Men 
wre loyal and true to Cameron, who never broke a prom- 
ise and always took care of his friends. He was loved and 
respected by the great majority of the people in the state. 
When the legislature adjourned I went back to Wellsboro. 



122 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

Wilson's Campaign for Judge. 

I think it was in 1873 that S. F. Wilson became a 
candidate for Additional Law Judge for our District, com- 
posed of Tioga, Potter, and McKean Counties. I was much 
interested for Wilson and went with him over the county. 
F. E. Smith was his opponent. We were going down 
Breeds Hill near the Block house, in a single-seated cov- 
ered buggy with two horses. The top set well forward. 
You had to let it down or climb out over the wheel. I 
was driving, and the hill was long and steep. The neck yoke 
broke and let the buggy on to the horses and we had a run- 
away. On one side of the road was a deep gutter and the 
buggy was sometimes in the gutter and some times shoving 
the horses who were running their best. We finally landed 
at the foot of the hill in a crash, the horses getting loose. 
Wilson was very pale and groaning. Some men mowing 
nearby came running and lifted the buggy off of us. I 
was not much hurt, but Wilson was badly injured. His 
thigh was broken, so a boy was hurriedly sent for the 
nearest doctor, and they carried Wilson into a house nearby. 
None of the people could speak English for it was a Dutch 
Settlement. Soon Dr. Wentz came galloping over the hill 
on a large horse, his saddle bags swinging under him. He 
hauled up and got down and carried his saddle bags into 
the room where Wilson lay on a rough couch. Dr. Wentz 
was a tall man, old and nervous. He straightened Wilson's 
legs out on the couch and pressed on the feet to see which 
limb was broken. Wilson threatened to kill him if that 

123 



was repeated. He passed a very bad night and at times 
I thought he would die, but in the morning he was better, 
and we got a doctor from the blockhouse. This was Friday 
and the primaries were a week from Saturday. Wilson had 
hardly and money and could not get out until long after the 
election. The rumor spread that he was drunk when the 
runaway occurred. I saw that he was comfortable, extorted 
a promise from him not to withdraw or make any public 
statement and started for Wellsboro to carry on his cam- 
paign. He said it was no use, but I had hopes. With what 
money I had and what I could borrow I got together four 
hundred dollars. I got three good men and had the money 
changed into one and two-dollar bills. One man took a hun- 
dred dollars over to the Cowanesky River, another took the 
same amount into the Tioga Valley, the third went into the 
mines about Blosburg. Walter Sherwood and I took Wells- 
boro and the two large townships of Delmar and Charleston. 
In previous campaigns there had been very little money 
used. My plan was simply to hire farmers in each neighbor- 
hood to bring Wilson men to the polls with their teams. The 
most of them would come any way and a dollar or two for 
the team looked big to them. I never put in a busier week 
and Wilson's friends were at work in Wellsboro. There 
were about three thousand votes polled in the county and in 
Delmar, Charleston and Wellsboro we gave Wilson nearly 
a thousand votes. There were never so many teams seen 
at the election before. The vote was very close and Wilson 
won by a majority of eleven votes. The Smith men claimed 
fraud, the poling of Democratic votes, and several other 
things. A committee of investigation was appointed and I 
was a member of that committee, but it never made any 
report. Wilson's name went on the ticket. He was elected 

124 



but he did not get out of the little Dutch house for two 
or three months and was lame and walked with a cane 
ever after his accident. Smith never forgave me, but I did 
not care. It was generally said that Wilson owed his nomi- 
nation to me, but I did not think so entirely. He was very 
popular and his friends stood manfully by him. I went to 
see Tom Jones, a farmer living on the ridge to get him to 
take his team to election. He had four sons — all voters. 
He was strong for temperance and would not listen to 
Wilson talk. I talked to one of his neighbors about it, and 
he said Jones was opposed to lawyers generally, because 
some years before he had signed a contract to become agent 
for the sale of fanning mills, and afterwards the contract had 
been cut in two and sent to a bank, it being a promissory 
note to which there was no defense. I asked the name 
of the lawyer who represented the bank. He did not 
know, but the bank was in Tioga. I knew there was but 
one bank in Tioga and Smith was its attorney, a director 
and stockholder. I went back to Jones. I asked him about 
the fanning mill case and he became very angry and said he 
was sorry that he had to vote for a lawyer for judge. I 
asked him if he had any papers in the case. He had and 
brought me some letters written by the attorney of the 
bank. He then produced a circular letter sent him by Smith 
and saw for the first time that his candidate for judge was 
the same lawyer that made him pay the fanning mill note. 
That settled it. Wilson got five votes in that family and 
would have gotten eight if the old woman and the two girls 
could have voted. 



125 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 
Klu Klux Outrages. 

The accounts in the papers of the Klu Khix outrages in 
the south interested me and in company with three friends 
we went south to investigate. We went into Chatham 
County, North Carolina where they were said to be the 
worst, and remained there about two weeks. We quietly 
investigated several cases, and in each case we reached the 
conclusion that the social conditions and offenses charged, 
justified the punishment. One case happened near where we 
were stopping. A white woman and colored man were 
living in a little one-room log hut as man and wife, but 
were not married. The Klu Klux riders whipped them, 
and then tied the man astride of a pole some four feet 
from the ground and left him there all night. As he had 
nothing on but a pair of trousers and the mosquitoes were 
thick, he suilered from them considerably, but his offense 
was great in the opinion of the people. He was released 
in the morning on his promise to leave the neighbor- 
hood. The offenses were stealing and failure to observe 
social relations generally. No doubt there were many 
cases much more serious but we did not find any. We 
were strong Republicans and came home with the opinion 
that these accounts of Klu Klux outrages were very much 
exagerated. 

It was expected by my friends that Wilson w^ould help 
mc by court appointments when he got on the bench, but 
he did not. On the contrary, he tried to show that he was 
not partial to me. He stood so straight in this respect that 
he leaned a little backwards. His intentions were all right, 

126 



but he was determined to be an impartial judge. He 
pushed me pretty hard and scolded me more than he did 
any other lawyer. I got restive under it and one day in 
court after he had been pretty rough on me I lost my 
temper and said, "1 don't want any favors, I expect the 
same treatment that you give to others. This is my right, 
but you are teaching me by your unnecessary discrimina- 
tion against me, to regret that you were elected a judge." 
The lawyers all looked approval. Wilson paused for half 
a minute and then slowly said: "Maybe you are right. 
I owe my election to you, but while on the bench I don't 
wish to feel that I am under any obligation to you for it. 
But there is no reason why you should be treated any dif- 
ferent from the others and I will try to see that you have 
no just cause of complaint." After that I had no cause of 
complaint, though I never had any unusual favors from 
him. But I expected none and did not look for any when 
I worked for his election. 

Wellsboro was a quiet, modest little village of twelve 
hundred people. There were no police guards or watch- 
man of any kind. A burglary or robbery was unknown. 
The only bank in town was robbed one night and all the 
cash and bonds stolen. The robbers, five or six of them, 
came from the State of New York. They tied and gagged 
the president, his wife and daughter and son. They car- 
ried the son who was tlie cashier, into the bank and forced 
him by threats of torture to open the combination safe. 
After the robbery they all got away. There was great ex- 
citement in the community, and farmers and town people 
tramped the roads, with guns, revolvers, pitchforks and axes, 
looking for them. They had divided the spoils and sepa- 
rated, but one of them, Mike Cosgrove, was captured and 
identified by the president's family. Court soon convened 

127 



and he was put on trial. To all questions concerning the 
robbery he would answer, "Nixy, weeden." L. P. Williston 
who had served four years as a United States Judge in 
one of the territories defended him. The court house was 
filled with people. When the trial began Cosgrove was 
brought into the court house handcuffed by Steve Bown, 
Sheriff. Judge Williston arose and with great indigna- 
tion denounced the sheriff for handcuffing the prisoner. 
Judge Wilson asked the sheriff why he did not take the 
handcuffs off. The sheriff said that the prisoner insisted 
on keeping them on. There was great excitement and 
craning of necks. Judge Wilson said, "Very well, this 
is a free country. A man may wear bracelets if he wishes. 
If the prisoner prefers handcuffs as bracelets no one should 
object; least of all the prisoner's counsel. The Court does 
not. Proceed." After this remark of the judge the excite- 
ment subsided and the trial proceeded. On several indict- 
ments the prisoner was convicted and sentenced the full 
penalties. 



128 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

District Attorney. 

In 1874 I became a candidate for District Attorney. 
The primaries were in September, and there were thirty-five 
boroughs and townships in the county. My opponents 
were Horace B. Packer and Gus Redfield. We made quite 
a spirited contest in the county, visiting the voters in the 
villages and on the farms. Packer had one advantage over 
me. He drove his father's old horse Bob, and Bob was 
known by every one in Delmar and Charleston. The sight of 
the horse would revive recollections of many kind acts of the 
doctor and many a serious illness that he had brought them 
through, but I had been a soldier, and the soldier vote was 
strong. My father had a beautiful iron gray mare. She 
was a fine stepper and held her head up high, so I borrowed 
her and we toured the county. Country people like a good 
horse and she got me many votes. In fact, she got more 
attention and admiration than I did. I went over to a man 
plowing. He said, "Can you turn as good a furrow as 
that?" I said that he was doing very good work. I prob- 
ably could not do as well, but I could plow. He turned 
the plow over to me. I think I turned a better furrow, 
but did not say so. He was satisfied and promised his 
support. One Saturday afternoon while going through 
a piece of woods I came upon eight or ten men shooting 
at a black knot in a board. The knot was about an inch and 
, a half in diameter, but none of them had hit it. There had 
been a number of shots, as evidenced by bullet holes around 
it. I told them my business. One of them said, "If you can 
hit that knot I think you would make a good district at- 

129 



torney." I said, "1 could shoot at it. That is all that you 
fellows seem to be doing." I took the rifle made a quick 
sight and fired. The knot was gone ; I don't know whether 
I hit jt or the board and jarred the knot out, but I was a 
fairly good shot then. They all said they would vote for 
me. The county was pretty large and X could not cover it 
all. I had to leave the mines until the last week of the 
campaign. In Blossburg, Fall Brook, Morris Run and 
Arnot, known as the mines there were five or six hundred 
Republican votes, and my opponents had spent much time 
there. The people were Catholics and mostly foreign. I 
went to Barney Murray's saloon and told him that I sup- 
posed I was too late to get any votes. "Begorry," he 
said, "You will get the most of them. Father McDermitt's 
been talkin to the Byes for yez. He wants to see you." 
I knew Father McDermitt. A year before when the little 
Catholic Society in Wellsboro had bought the Old Acad- 
emy building for a parish church Mike Conway had brought 
P'ather McDermitt to me to examine the title and transact 
the, business. When it was through I declined to take a 
fee from him because the lawyers in Wellsboro never 
charged a clergyman for services. Father McDermitt said 
that was no reason why I should not be paid a fee be- 
cause he was a Catholic Priest. I told him that made no 
difference, a preacher was a preacher and I would make no 
discrimination. I had forgotten the matter but Father 
McDermitt had not and he had made the most of it to my 
advantage. I called on him and he was quite enthusiastic 
He told me to spend my time in other places. I went 
away and I carried the mines by a large majority. I got 
more votes than either of my opponents and became the 
party candidate. The convention was held at Tioga. After 
it was over Seely Frost of Roseville told me that he had 

130 



promised my service to a Mrs. Ashton who was prosecut- 
ing Charles Sherman for assault and battery before Squire 
Pat Longwell in Roseville. There was much public senti- 
ment for her. Seely Frost had been very strong for 
me in my campaign and I promised to be on hand and try 
her case. There had been a water famine in Roseville. 
Mrs. Ashton's husband had told Charley Sherman to come 
to his pump and get water. When he came with a bucket 
she got hold of the pump handle and would not let him 
get the water. There was not enough water for her family. 
He pushed her rudely away and in the melee she was 
slightly hurt. It was a matter between Charley Sherman's 
wife and Mrs. Ashton's husband. The warrant had been 
served and Sherman had demanded a jury trial before the 
justice. The justice had written the names of twelve free- 
holders of the township and the prosecutor and defendant 
had alternately crossed out each three names. The six 
remaining were the jury. Henry Allen of Mansfield was 
attorney for the defendant. Pat Longwell had recently 
been elected and had tried no cases before. I had never 
met Pat Longwell but had heard much of his oddity and 
drollness. I drove over to Roseville early as I wanted to 
see what shape the justice had his record in, for it was sel- 
dom that a justice's record could be sustained on a writ of 
certiorari. He came to the door in response to my knock, 
and I told him I was to take part in the trial before him. He 
said, "Which side be you on." I said, "The woman's." 
He said. Come in. Henry Allen is on the other side and 
we will have a hard time to beat him." Allen was a very 
aggravating lawyer. He, Frank Clark and John Adams, 
were the attorneys in Mansfield. Trials before magistrates 
there frequently ended in fist fights between the lawyers, 
and Allen was feared by all the magistrates. He would make 

131 



all kinds of objections and annoy and enrage them in every 
way. I asked to see the docket. There was none. I asked 
to see the papers. He had none. I said, "Where is the 
paper that was served on the jurors?" He studied a min- 
ute and going to the tali, old family clock brought from 
the top a sheet of foolscap paper with about one-third of 
it chewed off. He said, " I saw the children chasing the 
dog with something in his mouth. This is the paper." 
It was the list of the twelve men from which the jury was 
selected. He said the constable might have some papers 
but that was all that he had. But he had a good memory 
and plenty of foolscap paper and a pencil. I told him I 
would make him up a record and if Allen took the case to 
court he must copy it, date it, and sign it. He promised 
and I constructed a record from the facts which he gave 
me, writing it out plain in pencil. As no lawyers were 
present at the former meetings and the docket did not have* 
to go to court on a writ of certiorari I had hopes that the 
judgment would be sustained. When the trial began at 
one o'clock in the large bar room of the Rose Hotel the 
room was packed with men, women, and children. The 
sympathy for Mrs. Ashton was strong, not so much on 
account of the fuss at the pump, but on account of the 
misconduct of Ashton and Sherman's wife. Squire Long- 
well sat behind a small table in great dignity. It was his 
first trial and the eyes of his neighbors were upon him. 
He was not a learned man, and his grammar was poor, 
but he had horse sense. Allen objected to all of my ques- 
tions and on each objection Pat would say the court over- 
rules the objection. Once Allen began an argument in 
support of an objection. When Pat said "Mr. Allen, the 
court overrules your argument," Allen says, "Will the 
court advise my client?" Pat said, "Mr. Allen the court 

132 



cannot advise your client but if it could it would advise 
him to get a lawyer or plead guilty." When the evidence 
was all in and the arguments were through Pat charged 
the jury. He said in substance: "Gentlemen of the jury, 
it is for you and not for the court to pass on this evidence. 
If the court was to pass on this evidence it would find the 
defendant guilty pretty d — n quick and I expect you will 
do the same. Tom Ashton had no business to carry on 
so with Sherman's wife." There had been no evidence 
about Ashton and Sherman's wife but the audience ap- 
plauded the charge of the court. Allen was frantic. He 
began to write rapidly. The jury were out about two 
minutes and brought in a verdict of guilty. Again there 
was loud applause in the court room. Pat told Sherman 
to stand up. Allen demanded that sentence be delayed 
until he could write out reasons in support of his motion 
for arrest of judgment. Pat got the idea that he must im- 
pose sentence before Allen filed his motion for suspension 
of sentence, that after the motion he could not sentence. 
In response to Allen's demand for delay, he said, "Mr. 
Allen, the court can't wait. Charles Sherman stand up." 
He stood up and Pat sentenced him to pay a fine and costs. 
I went down to Pat's house and completed the record with 
the events of the trial and went home. Allen sued out a 
writ of certiorari and instead of following my instructions, 
Pat signed the penciled record that I had made and sent 
it to court. Judge Williams knew my handwriting and 
came to see me about it. I told him the facts. He laughed 
heartily and decided that, "The court is not familiar with 
the handwriting of Justice Longwell. It is presumed that 
the return is correct. There is no provision in law that the 
return must be written in ink. The magistrate while 
strongly intimating his opinion of the facts still told the 

133 



jury that it was for them to pass on the evidence. The 
judgment of Justice Longwell is affirmed and the excep- 
tions dismissed." 

I had left the office of Wilson and Niles and had an 
office of my own. I had become acquainted with John 
Adams of Mansfield. He was to defend a woman in his 
vicinity charged with murder of her child. He had made 
great preparations for this trial. He came over to the No- 
vember Court with a new Prince Albert coat and strutted 
around full of the importance of a murder case on his 
hands. The indictment was submitted to the grand jury 
and he dropped into my office. He had prepared his ad- 
dress to the jury with great care. I went into my back 
room at his request and he recited it to me. He had quo- 
tations from the Bible, Shakespeare, Byron, Burns and 
other poets. Tt was very affecting. I could hardly re- 
strain my tears. When he got through and I had compli- 
mented him on his masterly effort, Tom Wingate the court 
crier, came along. John asked him if the grand jury had 
returned a bill in his case. Tom said they had ignored 
the bill, and thus a great effort was wasted and a speech 
of great brilliance was never delivered. John was much 
disgusted and left town that night with his speech and his 
new Prince Albert coat, both investments unproductive. 

In the following January I was sworn in as District 
Attorney, and while the principal cases for the Common- 
wealth were tried by the older attorneys, 1 occasionally 
tried cases. There was a case against a married man who 
had posed as single before an ignorant and innocent girl. 
The evidence for the Commonwealth was the unsupported 
testimony of the girl. Charles Copestick, a hard-headed 
Scotchman, was on the jury. I saw that he was against me. 
I knew that unless he was with me I could not win. My only 

134 



witnesses were the girl and her baby. When I came to ad- 
dress the Jury I quoted Robert Burns: "I've traveled much 
this weary world around and sage experience bids rne this 
declare: If Heaven a boon to mortal man has given in all 
this melancholy vale 'tis when a youthful loving pair in each 
other's arms pour out the tender tale beneath the milk 
white thorn that scents the evening gale." Copestick like 
all Scotchmen loved Burns. The defendant was convicted. 
I began to forge ahead and was growing. J. B. Niles 
employed me to help him try a case for Sergeant Grosjean 
against the Tannery Company. It was a bill to restrain 
the tannery company from emptying the liquor from their 
vats into the stream which ran through Grosj can's farm. 
The emptyings from the tannery polluted the water and 
made it unfit for his cattle to drink. In their answer to 
the bill the tannery company set up that they had tried 
to purchase Grosjean's farm and had offered him thirt}'-- 
five hundred dollars for it. We denied this in our repli- 
cation. When the case began before the master, John I. 
Mitchell, M. F. Elliott, Attorney for the company, said 
he now made a tender of the thirty-five hundred dollars 
for the farm. I said that I did not see any tender. He 
sent the secretary of the company over to the bank and 
got thirty-five hundred dollars in greenbacks and formally 
made the tender. I took it saying we would deliver the 
deed the next day. Niles and Grosjean were excited and 
asked what I meant. I said, "You have sold your farm for 
twice its value. It was only worth about fifteen hundred 
dollars." The tannery people were astonished, but we 
retained the money and delivered the deed and the case 
was ended. Later Grosjean bought a larger and better 
farm well stocked, was out of debt, and prosperous. Things 

135 



were coming my way. I had learned that tact and manage- 
ment were more potent in the law practice than great 
knowledge of the law. 

In 1876 I went to Pittsburgh as a United States Jury- 
man and while there heard Robert Gibson defend two 
young men on trial for passing counterfeit money. I was 
much impressed with his conduct of the case. I came 
home determined to move to Pittsburgh. I resigned my 
office as District Attorney and moved to Pittsburgh. I 
entered the office of B. C. Christy at No. 70 Grant Street; 
was admitted to the Pittsburgh Bar and began a long wait 
for clients. Soon Christy moved to other offices. During 
my first year there I had only one client and he was an 
accident. He was drunk and stumbled into my office look- 
ing for a lawyer. I got fifty dollars from him which in- 
sured his return after he got sober. I managed his case, 
which had merit, satisfactorily and was paid fifty dollars 
more. 

In May 1877 my wife died leaving me two children, 
Harriet and Stephen. Her death was a great blow to me. 
She was a splendid woman. Devoted to her family, do- 
mestic, sympathetic, and affectionate. I appreciated her 
more after her death than I did while she lived. I was 
homesick and disheartened. I would gladly have gone 
back to Wellsboro if I had had any excuse for doing so, 
but I had none, except failure to get business. 

I was passing the Monongahela House and saw two 
men fighting. A crowd was gathering and I joined it. 
One knocked the other down and began to kick him. As 
was the custom in Wellsboro I interfered. The man got 
up and seeing the promise of fair play in me renewed the 
fight. I was trying to stop it. They were not evenly 
matched. The big fellow said: "What have you got to 

136 



do with this fight? Get out of the way or I will hit you." 
The other fellow objected to my presence also. "Who 
are you?" said he. An inspiration came to me. I re- 
sembled John L. Sullivan then the champion. I knew 
that he was passing through Pittsburgh to fight some one 
in the west. I said, "My name is Sullivan." "What, John 
L. Sullivan," said one. "Yes," I answered. After that 
nobody wanted to fight in that ward. The crowd cheered 
me. I was rushed into the Hotel Bar, drinks were ordered. 
I excused myself for a moment and when out of the room, 
bolted. I got down an alley and around to my office deter- 
mined not to interfere with any more fights. 

W. W. Ketcham was United States District Judge. 
In 1892 he was a candidate for Governor. I was with the 
delegation from Tioga County at the State Convention. 
We supported Ketcham and I was one of the numerous 
delegates who called on him and urged him to run as an 
independent candidate after Hartranft's nomination. He 
declined and supported the ticket and was afterwards ap- 
pointed United States District Judge. I met him but he 
did not recall me. One day in 1878 he stopped me on the 
sidewalk and asked me if I was not one of those wild men 
from the northern tier who wanted him to run as an In- 
dependent candidate for Governor. He asked me how I 
was getting along. I told him I was in watchful waiting. 
Soon after that he appointed me assignee in bankruptcy, 
of an estate and later appointed me master in several im- 
portant equity cases in the bankrupt estate of Wm. M. 
Lloyd of Altoona. Here began the nucleus of my practice. 
I made a number of clients out of creditors and others in- 
terested in these estates, and in the third year of my prac- 
tice I got about twenty-five hundred dollars in fees. This 
was more than I ever could have made in Wellsboro in 

137 



any year and I felt encouraged. James W. Houston was 
Chief Clerk of the Wholesale Grocery Company of John 
S. Dillworth and Company. I made his acquaintance and 
by his influence I was employed for the first Reformed 
Presbyterian Church in its long litigation against the Rev 
Nevin Woodside and his followers. This was very help 
ful to me. I had, while in Tioga County joined the Masons, 
the Odd fellows and a Post of the Grand Army of the Re- 
public. I united with the same Orders in Pittsburgh and 
was regular in my attendance. They brought me clients. 
I defended Charles Williams, ex-sheriff of Armstrong 
County in a criminal suit in the United States Court for 
pension frauds in the spring of 1880. 



CHAPTER XXXV. 

United States Attorney. 

H. H. McCormick was the United States Attorney. 
An altercation arose between us on the trial of a case. 
I told McCormick that I would be an applicant for appoint- 
ment of United States Attorney when his term expired 
in May, but he laughed at me. He had the backing of Sen- 
ator Don Cameron and C. L. Magee and Quay and his re- 
appointment was regarded as certain. Rutherford B. Hayes 
was President. I stormed the Attorney General's office 
with petitions from the lawyers of the western counties 
with apparently no result. I had met on several occasions 
Bishop Simpson of the Methodist Church. The wife of 
the President was a leading Methodist. I went to see 
Bishop Simpson. The result was that he went to Wash- 

138 



ington and saw Mrs. Hayes. I was appointed within a 
week after his visit. Every one was surprised. Nothing 
was said about Bishop Simpson's visit. 

Objections to my confirmation were filed in the United 
States Senate. I did not know Don Cameron. He wrote 
to me that if I would appoint a friend of Magee's my 
assistant he thought objections to my confirmation would 
be removed. I wrote him that I could not do that. The 
man he named had been very strong against my appoint- 
ment. I said there was a man who had done much to help 
me get this office, David Cameron of Tioga County; that 
one of the anticipated pleasures of the office was to appoint 
him my assistant. He had not asked it and I had made 
him no promise, but if I could not appoint my assistant 
they could take the office. If I had anything to give it 
was for my friends not my enemies. That I had always 
understood this rule was observed by the Camerons, but 
if he wished to violate it I would not. I gave the matter 
up then, supposing that my confirmation would be pre- 
vented by Cameron who was all powerful in the Senate. 
Great was my surprise when a few days afterwards I got 
a telegram from Senator Cameron saying "Your appoint- 
ment was confirmed this morning. I like your pluck. Come 
down and see me." This was my first introduction to 
Senator Cameron. Afterwards I got to know him well. 
Cameron was not a dealer of political cards. At the head 
of the strongest political organization in this country he 
was at all times independent of it, never subservient to it, 
true to his friends. He courted no one, flattered no one. 
He was honest, outspoken and square to all. McCormick 
was not only surprised but gave very foolish interviews 
in the papers. He said the President had appointed a fool 
to the office. The reporters came to me to get what I 

139 



had to say. I said I would not say anything, and, by my 
silence, demonstrate which was the fool. I appointed Dave 
Cameron one of my assistants and was fortunate in the 
retention of Geo. C. Wilson as the other. He was very 
capable and has since won distinction at the bar. 

In 1882 the Democratic State Convention met in Pitts- 
burgh. My old Wellsboro friend Walter Sherwood and 
A. C. Churchill were delegates from Tioga County. Just 
before the Convention met Walter Sherwood called upon 
me and wanted me to take Churchill's place in the con- 
vention. Churchill was sick at his hotel and unable to 
attend. I objected strongly, I was anxious to oblige Sher- 
wood, but this was going too far. I was and always had 
been a Republican and then held the office of United States 
Attorney under a Republican President. Sherwood was 
insistent — while he was a Democrat and I a Republican 
we had always worked together and helped each other 
when we could do so without party disloyalty in Tioga 
County. He said that Churchill and I were both unknown 
in the Convention. That we were of about the same age and 
height. That Churchill was hard up and needed an office. 
That they were sure to elect a Democratic Governor that 
year owing to dissensions in the Republican party. That if 
Churchill got an office it would help the Democratic organ- 
ization in Tioga County as he was the editor and proprietor 
of the Wellsboro Gazette, the only Democratic organ in tlie 
county. That it was known that Churchill was a delegate. 
That if he did not show up in the convention his chances 
were gone. That all I had to do was to go into the con- 
vention, answer to Churchill's name and vote as he did. 
I was not anxious to help the Democratic organization in 
Tioga County and was not interested in Churchill, but 
Walter had helped me in too many hard contests in Tioga 

140 



County to refuse him and I finally consented. He gave 
me Churchill's credentials and I went into the convention 
with Walter and answered "Present" when Churchill's 
name vi/'as called. Walter's name was called just before 
mine and I voted upon all questions as he did. I was not 
so enthusiastic as he was, but applauded when he did. 
Some one came from the. platform and whispered to him 
and he turned to me with a scared look and said "Churchill 
has got to make a speech." He had a reputation as a 
public speaker and he was to be called upon for a speech. 
I refused, but Walter urged me and said it would give the 
whole thing away if I refused, but I said to him, "What 
on earth will I say." He told me to pitch into Cameron 
and Quay, Republican leaders, and say something good 
for Robert E. Patterson who was Walter's candidate for 
Governor. Just then my name was called. Walter had 
just time to tell me that I must say something against a 
protective tariff. I was sick of the business. I told Walter 
that I would slander Cameron and Quay for his sake but 
that I would not assail the tariff. That subject to me was 
sacred. I got up and did the best that I could. I smashed 
away at Cameron and Quay and praised Patterson. There 
were cheers and applause. Walter muttered, "Say some- 
thing about the stalwart Democrats of old Tioga County." 
There was only one that I cared anything about and that 
was Walter, so I spoke of him — My young friend by my 
side who had stood like a rock against the Republican 
hosts and who would go back with renewed faith and 
courage if the convention nominated Patterson. I sat down 
admidst applause and Walter patted me on the back. Pat- 
terson was nominated and after we got out of the conven- 
tion I expressed myself freely to Walter in a somewhat 
different way than I did in the convention. Patterson was 

141 



elected and Churchill got an appointment and the Demo- 
cratic organization of Tioga County was saved. Governor 
Patterson vs^rote Churchill offering him the appointment 
and said that he was very much pleased with his speech 
in the convention. 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Beaver's Campaign against Stewart. 

I stumped the State in the fall campaign in the con- 
test between Gen. Beaver and John Stewart for Governor 
in 1882. I was with Beaver throughout the campaign. 
We started in at Somerset. Stewart addressed a large 
audience in the court house the night before. I attended 
Stewart's meeting. I have never heard an abler political 
speech. His denunciation of boss ring rule was masterly 
and convincing. The audience applauded him heartily. I 
had hard work to keep from applauding myself although 
I was there to speak the next night for Beaver. I told 
Beaver that I was afraid that Stewart would get enough 
Republican votes to elect Patterson, the Democratic can- 
didate, but Beaver was not worried. I gave him a pretty 
good account of Stewart's speech. He answered Stewart 
the next night. I was not impressed with his speech. The 
applause was not so hearty and spontaneous. In fact, there 
was very little of it. Beaver was a good man and had a 

142 



splendid record, but Republican revolt was in the air. It 
was a cold campaign resulting in the election of Patter- 
son. Stewart, of Irish ancestry ran through the State like 
John the Baptist with a flaming sword, crying "Prepare 
ye the way, prepare ye the way for the kingdom of the 
people is at hand !" 

Cleveland's election in 1884 and Democratic mistakes 
in State and Nation, brought the Republicans back in 
1886, and Beaver was renominated and elected. I made 
two speeches in that campaign for which I was removed 
from office by President Cleveland in October, 1886. A 
Democratic District Attorney in Missouri was removed 
from office at the same time for the same offense, but he was 
reinstated. I did not blame the President for my removal. 
Raised in the Cameron School of politics I believed that 
the office belonged to some Democrat and I have always re- 
garded Cleveland as one of the best Presidents that the 
country has ever had. His stand for sound money against 
his party raised him to the rank of a statesman. His whole 
official course evidenced that his purpose was first for the 
welfare of the country. After General Beaver's election 
my name was mentioned in the papers as Attorney Gen- 
eral. I made no effort to get the appointment. Beaver 
sent a mutual friend to see me. I was told that the Gov- 
ernor wanted to appoint a lawyer for whose legal ability 
he had great respect, a man that he could consult and who 
was a better lawyer than he was. I told the emissary that 
I had not applied for the appointment and did not intend 
to, that I was glad that in selecting his attorney general 
he was applying a test that would make nearly every lawyer 
in the state eligible. 

I think it was in 1887 that I was a delegate to the 
Republican State Convention. Judge Williams of Tioga 

143 



County was a candidate for Judge of the State Supreme 
Court. I was very much interested in his candidacy and 
had visited different people in his interest. I placed him 
in nomination before the State Convention, and in doing so 
I made a great blunder in my speech. I thought I was 
saying that he was never accused of partiality while on 
the bench, but I used the word impartiality. There was 
much laughter and a delegate from Philadelphia yelled, 
"That's the man we want." He was nominated by accla- 
mation, not so much through the blunder in my speech, 
but because the bosses had agreed upon it before, though 
it looked as if my assurance, that he was never impartial, 
had done it. He was elected and made a splendid judge. 
I had married Elizabeth White, daughter of Robert G. 
White, of Wellsboro, who for many years was President 
Judge of that Judicial District. To us were born six chil- 
dren, three boys and three girls ; two of the boys died 
when seven and nine years old. When the first boy, 
Robert, died I sufi'ered all the grief that a father can know 
in the loss of a son. For several days after the funeral 1 
did not go to the ofihce. My wife suft'ered as much or more. 
He was past seven years old, a bright, lovable child. For 
the first time in my life I thought seriously of the question 
of life after death. I worked out an argument and append 
it here, in the shape of a brief. 

Life 

vs. \- A Lawyer's Brief for the plaintiff. 

Death. 

There is no question about which we think so much, 
no question in which we are so deeply interested as the 
question, "does death end all?" I can easily prove that 

144 



death does not end all, but that we live after what is called 
death, if 1 am permitted to refer to the Bible as authority. 
But I would be required to prove that the Bible is the 
revealed word of God, and this I cannot do for I am un- 
acquainted with any evidence of this except the Bible it- 
self. I must then draw my conclusions from things about 
us that we see and hear and know. We know that man 
!s an animal, that our bodies are animal, that we possess 
all the appetites of the other animals and that what they 
can do by instinct we may learn to do. We know also 
that man possesses what no other animal does, viz : the 
ability to acquire a knowledge of all earthly things. Com- 
ing into the world helpless, ignorant, inferior to all other 
animals, he goes out of the world superior to them all, 
and that superiority is measured by the opportunities 
which he has improved to acquire knowledge. The young 
bird need not be taught to build its nest, but builds its first 
one unaided, as well as its last. The fox digs his first 
hole without help. A bird cannot dig a hole, neither can 
a fox build a nest, but man can do all things, but he has 
first to learn how. He does nothing by instinct. He has 
no instinct. Therefore, we know that man is different 
from all other animals and superior to all other animals 
in his ability to acquire knowledge. He can see no better 
than the fox. He can hear no better. A meal when he is 
hungry gives no greater satisfaction. His uneducated 
senses are no better and give him no greater enjoyment. 
He possesses no superiority to the other animals, visible 
to the eye. We know that this superiority exists, because 
we feel it ourselves and recognize it in others. It is an 
unlimited power, almost infinite and as yet has never been 
tethered nor its boundaries defined. We call it the mind, 
the soul, the spirit of man. It does not exist in any one 

145 



organ, neither the brain, the heart, nor any one part, yet 
these organs are essential to it s existence. It is not 
nourished by food. The body hungers and thirsts, but the 
mind or soul does not. The body suffers with cold and 
heat, but it is the body alone that suft'ers. The body is 
afflicted with disease but not the mind or soul. Some- 
times communication between the body and mind is cut 
off by disease, but the soul is still imprisoned in the body. 
There is in this life a clear and well defined distinction 
between the soul and the body. Love and hate are not of 
the body. The body with its appetites satisfied and in 
health, is content, while the soul or mind may be stricken 
with grief or groaning in despair. We may weep with grief 
until the eyes are red with weeping, but it is not the smart- 
ing of the eyes that grieves us. It is the loss of some loved 
one, or other sorrow. We may suffer bodily pain until 
we weep, but we do not grieve. As soon as the pain is 
relieved we cease to weep. Hunger, cold, thirst, heat, do 
not bring grief. These are bodily sufferings. We know 
when we do wrong. Sin brings remorse. We then say our 
conscience troubles us. This is because we have violated 
a law of the soul, but the body does not suffer for this. 
There are two codes or sets of laws. One is the physical 
or bodily code — the other is the spiritual code. If I put 
my hand in the fire I break a physical law. I feel the pain, 
it is in the hand, but my mind or soul does not suffer. If 
we do wrong we suffer. The suffering is not in the hand 
or limb or head. We cannot locate it anywhere and yet 
we suffer. We have broken a spiritual law. Our con- 
science tells us that ; now can this soul or mind exist with- 
out the body? All that it enjoyes here, all that it suffers 
here is not of the body. Love and hate, joy and sorrow, 
have no connection with the body. Grief is foreign to it. 

146 



Remorse of conscience is not of the body. I use the term 
soul or mind or spirit, but by these terms I mean the man, 
the body being but the house in which he resides. If the 
body then does not contribute to joy or grief; if joy and 
grief come to us while in the body, entirely distinct from 
it, then the body is not essential to them. We can exist 
without the body and experience everything that we now 
experience in the body. In other words, all of our appe- 
tites die when the body dies, all that the body enjoys is 
simply the satisfaction of its appetites. Without hunger 
we do not enjoy food, but it is the body that gets hungry, 
not the soul. Without cold we do not want heat, but it is 
the body that gets cold. When the body dies then all of 
our desires for things of this world die with it, so that 
when we leave the body we have no further use for it, but 
our love does not die, our hate does not die, our memory 
does not die. These we retain and do not require the body 
to sustain them. I do not claim that I have yet established 
that we do exist after the dissolution of the body but simply 
that we can so exist, that joy and sorrow, love and hate, 
fear and confidence, grief and despair are not of the body. 
Neither does the body affect or influence any of these ex- 
cept at our command, and that no element or organ or 
office of the body produces, affects or influences any of 
these and therefore the body is not and cannot be essential 
to the realization of them. All of our conceptions, all of 
our thoughts of our condition after the dissolution of the 
body are of joy or sorrow. We will either be happy or 
unhappy after we leave the body. No one hopes or ex- 
pects to be happy by the gratification of any bodily appe- 
tite, and to reach the happiness which we hope to obtain, 
and to experience the sorrow which we fear we will meet, 
we do not require the body or the performance of any 

147 



office which it now performs. If then we may regard it 
as established that existence may continue without the 
body and that we may realize all that we now realize in 
the body let us pass to the consideration of the question, 
Do we exist after the body dies? We cannot see man out- 
side the body. We cannot see the soul with mortal eyes. 
We, therefore, do not know that man survives his body. 
We have seen how the body is not essential to the existence 
of the soul or the man. That all that we expect to enjoy 
after we are done with the body, all that we hope to enjoy 
does not depend upon or require the body. It is said that 
we cannot realize the existence of a soul or a man without 
form or shape or size, but can we see grief or love or hate 
except by its manifestations in the body? If you look 
through an opera glass you see nothing, but turn the screw 
until the lens is brought to the right distance from the eye 
and you see the object. Who knows but, that, when freed 
from the body we shall see and know each other well. 
While in the body our vision is not adjusted to see spiritual 
things. We can only see physical things, objects that are 
amenable to the same laws that govern our bodies. Now 
the spirit, the soul, the man, is not subject to the laws of 
gravitation or of heat, or cold. We know that the mind or 
spirit or soul exists and that it is not influenced by any 
physical law, but by the law of good and evil. Good deeds 
make us happy, evil deeds make us unhappy. The viola- 
tion of every physical law brings its penalty and every 
evil act brings the penalty of remorse. It is a sense of 
having done wrong. It brings grief, sorrow and shame. 
We know by our conscience that there are spiritual laws. 
The soul, spirit, or man is not his thoughts or his reason- 
ing or logic. It often runs contrary to our judgment and 
logic. It often enables us to control our thoughts and cir- 

148 



cumvents them. I have often when unable to sleep gotten 
up and put a hard losenge in my mouth. I knew that I 
must keep awake until it dissolved else I might swallow 
it and be choked, and in trying to keep awake I have gone 
to sleep. We know by observation and experience that 
there are physical laws. We will all concede that the 
spiritual laws were made by the same Creator who made 
the physical laws. They are of equal antiquity and equally 
certain. If then we study and understand the physical 
laws of the Creator we can get some idea of the plan con- 
cerning the spiritual laws. We look about us and see the 
world full of life but no death. We speak of death, but 
there is none. Dissolution is the proper word. We say 
a tree or plant or flower is dead, but it is not so. The 
elements that compose the tree or plant have been re- 
leased. That is all, and they have returned to their own 
class. The chemist will tell you that certain substances 
make up the plant, and he will separate it and collect and 
weigh each particle and the sum of the parts will equal 
the plant when alive, and so with a man. He will separate 
the body and collect and weigh it, and the sum of the parts 
will equal the body. All is accounted for. Nothing is lost, 
nothing is destroyed. It is said fire destroys the wood, 
but it does not. It has simply released the gases and ele- 
ments that compose the wood. We may cremate a human 
body. We have simply done by. fire what nature will itself 
do in time, released the elements that compose it. We can 
decompose a body, we will find what composes the blood, 
the bones, the heart, the brains, the skin, the hair, the 
nerves, but we do not find any trace of the soul, the spirit, 
the man. The mind, the spirit, the soul, the man, is either 
dead, dead in earnest, annihilated completely, or it lives 
on. If it dies it is the only thing about the man that does 

149 



die. It is the only living thing that dies. We know that 
it exists in man. We feel it, see it, hear it, we know that 
it exists. Dissolution comes. We carefully examine and 
find everything but the soul, we find that every ingredient 
that entered into the composition of the man lives on in 
its natural state, not one particle dies. We find them all 
there. Can it be said that the soul, the most important 
thing in the man, dies when all the other things live? Can 
it be said that 'the soul which carries the key to the future 
dies when everything else lives? The soul which alone 
retains memory, love, hate, fear, and remorse and can exist 
and keep all of these without the body does not die. No, 
it lives on. The man lives on. He is released from the 
body that is all and takes with him his joy, his sorrow, his 
love, his hate, his grief, and his remorse for his evil deeds. 
For the violation of physical laws there is no respite, no 
reprieve and while I do not see how there can be for the 
violation of spiritual laws without an atonement, I do not 
desire to enter upon the discussion of this subject. My 
purpose is simply to advance what seems to me, argument, 
that we live after what is called death without calling 
upon the Bible for any aid or relying upon any promise 
but what is known by all to be true, substantially as stated. 
There is a wide difference between belief and knowledge 
and we must not confound them. We may believe what 
may take place after the dissolution of the body, we know 
only what we have seen and measured. Yet we often be- 
lieve a theory, supported by our reason as completely as 
if it was supported by positive testimony. A jury strug- 
gling in the dark, in doubt and uncertainty, finally begin 
to think they believe. Their belief grows stronger until 
it ripens into a conviction, and under their oaths they ren- 
der a verdict for life or death. They do not know. The 

150 



evidence is conflicting. They did not see the crime com- 
mitted and yet they become convinced. Very few of our 
beliefs or conclusions are supported by positive evidence. 
It is a common saying that no one should be condemned 
on circumstantial evidence, and yet circumstantial evidence 
is generally more satisfactory and conclusive than positive 
evidence. A confession is termed positive or direct evi- 
dence, and yet there are not a few cases where persons 
charged with crime have confessed their guilt and been 
punished, and afterwards their innocence has been fully 
established. Suppose a friend should cease to breathe and 
lay for a time apparently dead and you would believe him 
to be dead, but finally he revives and tells of things spir- 
itual that he saw and heard. You would not believe him. 
You would think he dreamed it. It is impossible to obtain 
direct or positive evidence of life after the dissolution of 
the body, but we should give to circumstantial evidence 
supporting this theory the same weight and credit that 
we would give to circumstantial evidence supporting any 
other theory or proposition. Circumstances only should 
be considered which support the theory, and they should 
be such as exclude all other theories. Then if we are able 
to forge about our theory a chain of circumstances that 
point directly to its truth and exclude any and all other 
explanations, we may fairly say our theory is proven, and 
proven as absolutely as it is possible to prove anything 
by evidence. The conscience is evidence of life after dis- 
solution. Man is the only animal that has a conscience. 
We can teach a dog to fear the consequence of disobedience 
but it is our punishment that he fears. It is the fear of 
punishment hereafter, the fear of something that we must 
face hereafter that gives us pain of conscience, and it is 
the conscience that restrains us, for a very small per- 

151 



centage of us know the law, but it is the fear of something 
in the life to come that makes most good people good. 
Take away the conscience and anarchy would reign. The 
laws could not preserve the peace. Now why is the con- 
science given alone to man — unless man lives after the 
dissolution of the body? Certainly it cannot be said that 
the conscience was implanted in our breasts simply as a 
police regulation for the general good, while in the body ! 
The conscience is given us to warn us of evil and guide 
us to happiness in the life to come. If we obey the whis- 
perings of conscience we cannot go far wrong. A con- 
science may become so seared and callous with repeated 
violations, as to give forth no warning, but if we do not 
abuse it, it will warn us of danger and, like the rattle on 
the snake was put there for that purpose. No one ever 
doubts his conscience. He may doubt his judgment, but 
never his conscience. The fact that we have a conscience 
is a strong circumstance that we are not annihilated by 
the dissolution of the body, but that we live on, else 1 can 
see no use or purpose in having a conscience at all, and 
it being conceded by all that so far it has not been dis- 
covered that anything is created in vain, and being unable 
to see any use or purpose of the conscience except that we 
live on after the dissolution of the body, I am compelled 
to recognize the conscience as strong evidence that dis- 
solution of the body does not end all. We frequently hear 
the expression that man is a strange animal. It is only 
what we call his soul that is strange. In his physical 
organization there is nothing any more strange about a 
man than in that of other animals. We get some idea of 
the Creator by a study of his plans. We know that the 
ear was intended to hear with, and the eye to see with. 
We know also that it was intended that man should be 

152 



nourished by food. We know that his teeth were intended 
to eat with, and his feet to walk with. We read the plans 
of the Creator in this respect very plainly. We see birds 
building nests and we know that it was the plan of the 
Creator that birds should live in nests, and we see that 
after thousands of years they still live in nests. We also 
know that it was the plan of the Creator that foxes should 
live in holes in the ground. Now we look upon the crea- 
tion of the world and see no change or deviation in the 
plans of the Creator. We see also that each plan has a 
purpose. We cannot find a plan without a purpose. When 
we recognize a habit or custom that is universal with the 
animals of that family we know that the Creator intended 
it to be so and that he had a purpose in it. We know that 
beavers build dams across streams, and we, therefore, know 
that the Creator intended that beavers should build dams 
across streams, and for a purpose, for they must have deep 
water and they cannot get that in forest streams without 
damming them. Now we know that a great many different 
nations and tribes have been found in the world, and that 
there has never yet been found a nation or tribe that did 
not worship some being or thing as infinite, and whatever 
their forms of worship have been they believed in existence 
after the dissolution of the body. Now when we find that 
worship is universal with the human race we know that 
it was intended that man should worship, and when we 
find that the creeds of all religions worship declare that 
man shall live after the dissolution of the body, we are 
forced to conclude that it was the plan of the Creator to 
place in the human breast a belief in life after the disso- 
lution of the body and as every plan of the Creator has a 
purpose and as belief in a future life can only be fulfilled 
after the dissolution of the body, we are forced to conclude 

153 



that man must live after the dissolution of the body. If 
there is no life after dissolution why would we find every 
nation and tribe of the earth worshipping some thing or 
being as a God? And why would we find the creed of 
every worship teaching life after dissolution? I know that 
individuals have taught differently, but they have never 
succeeded in establishing their doctrines or creeds in the 
nation or tribe where they taught. This proposition is 
not met l)y the allegation that the desire to live after dis- 
solution is natural and that the wish is father to the 
thought. For why should we desire to live after dissolu- 
tion if that desire is not created in us, and why is it created 
in us if it is not to be realized? Can we believe that it 
is placed in us for a delusion and a snare? If this desire 
to live after dissolution was not confined to man ; if other 
animals worshipped something to which they recognized 
an accountability after dissolution then my argument would 
fail, but they do not. Man is the only animal that ever 
had a God, or a belief in future life. 

It may be said there has been much worship of false 
Gods among the children of men and the question may be 
asked why was not the true worship given them. Into 
that field I do not desire to trespass. I do not undertake in 
this paper to criticise the Creator nor to state who and 
what the Creator is, but to prove without the aid of any 
religion, creed or Bible, that death does not end all and 
that we live on after the dissolution of the body. If we 
once believe that fully and sincerely, then our desire and 
effort will be so to live that when dissolution comes our 
lives while in the body will be acceptable to our Creator. 

I suffered greatly when my second son died, but I 
was then a man of sorrow and acquainted with grief. Three 
girls, Jean, married to W. J. Crumpton and Margaret, 

154 



Isabel, and John are living, the last three single. My 
oldest daughter, Harriet, is married to Dr. D. P. Hickling 
of Washington, D. C. ; my oldest son, Stephen, married 
Ida McCandless, daughter of Dr. J. Guy McCandless. They 
are all living. 

I was giving strict attention to the law practice and 
in connection with William H. Graham made considerable 
money in the organization of street railways in Allegheny 
City, where I then lived. We were pioneers in the use of 
electricity as a motive power in that vicinity. 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 
Candidate for Congress. 

In 1890, Thomas M. Bayne, Congressman for the 
Allegheny District for fourteen years was a candidate for 
re-election. His opponent was George Shiras, III. There 
was a spirited contest and I supported Bayne, and a ma- 
jority of the delegates were elected for him. At the conven- 
tion he was nominated, but he declined the nomination and 
asked his delegates to nominate me. I knew nothing about 
it until the day before the convention, when I consented 
with much reluctance to accept if nominated. I was nomi- 
nated and it created much surprise and much opposition. It 
was charged that I was not the choice of the district. The 
delegates had not been elected to nominate me. The news- 
papers all denounced it and a storm of protest arose from 
all sides. There was much merit in the opposition to my 
nomination as I had not been a candidate before the people. 
Against the advice of some of my friends I wrote to the 
chairman of the county committee that if he would call 
a new convention fixing the primaries in September three 

155 



months later I would decline the nomination, become a 
candidate and abide by the result. This was done and the 
political atmosphere was cleared. There was a spirited 
contest between George Shiras and me. He was popular, 
'"to the manor born," while I was called a carpet bagger. 
The organization was against me, but I had warm, capable 
friends, and a majority of the delegates were elected in my 
favor. The seats of a number of my delegates were con- 
tested. My strength was in the boroughs and townships. 
These delegates would not stay for days, until the contests 
were settled, and once adjourned, it would be almost im- 
possible to reassemble them. My majority was not so 
large and I saw the danger of a delegate contest. There was 
some technical error in the notices of contests. Andy 
Armstrong was named by the county committee to call the 
convention to order. He would act as temporary chair- 
man until a permanent chairman was elected. Armstrong 
was a friend of mine. I selected Chas. W. Gerwig as my 
floor manager and we met at my rooms the night before 
the convention and mapped out our course. My delegates 
had their credentials, and when the contests were announced 
Gerwig was to raise a point of order that the notices of 
contests were defective and that they should not be re- 
ceived. Armstrong was to sustain the point of order, 
wdien, there being no contests before the convention, Ger- 
wig was to move Armstrong's election as permanent chair- 
man and after his election place me in nomination. We 
drilled on it until each man knew his work. Our enemies 
did not get knowledge of our plan until the convention was 
called to order. Then earnest protests were made to 
Armstrong. I feared he would weaken and I kept near 
him. But he stood up. When James S. Young a Shiras 
delegate, announced the contests, Gerwig raised the point 

156 



of order. Armstrong looked earnestly at me. I gave him 
a sharp nod to rule and he did, without comment. Then 
Gerwig moved his election, as permanent chairman and he 
was elected with much applause. James S. Young then 
got up and said that Mr. Shiras could not get justice there, 
that a neighboring hall had been secured and that the 
Shiras delegates would now retire and meet in the other 
hall. We had anticipated this, but could see no way to 
prevent it, as delegates had the right to leave the conven- 
tion. But John Murphy, Chief of Police, a great, big, 
popular fellow, whom every one knew and liked saw a 
way to prevent it. He put his big, broad back against the 
door the only means of egress and said, "Sit down. If 
you fellows bolt, you have got to bolt in here. You don't 
get out." There had been many bolts in conventions be- 
fore, but none was ever so effectually squelched. The 
situation was ridiculous. The protests of Shiras delegates 
were drowned in applause amidst which I was placed in 
nomination and nominated ; a majority of all the delegates 
voting for me in answer to their names. Then I thanked 
the convention and we adjourned, while the Shiras dele- 
gates sat sullen in their seats and Murphy still stood with 
his back against the closed doors. After this there was no 
more talk of a bolt and I was elected by the usual majority. 
I took my seat when Congress met on the first Mon- 
day of December, 1891. The house was Democratic. 
Charles Crisp from Georgia was elected speaker. He was 
an able man and a good man. He placed me on the River 
and Harbor Committee the first term. The second term 
I was on the Judiciary General Committee. Crisp was 
good to me and recognized me frequently for motions and 
immaterial matters. Thos. B. Reed, ex-speaker, was our 
minority leader. William Springer was the chairman of 

157 



the Ways and Means Committee. He was the recognized 
leader of the Democratic side. Charles Culbertson, from 
Texas was a more able man, but Springer having been in 
the House for twenty years had the prestige. Others sup- 
posed that he knew, and he had no doubt about it. He 
also was next the speaker in the committee on rules. He 
offered a rule one morning for the consideration of a bill 
to which Reed raised a point of order. Crisp was afraid 
of Reed's knowledge of parlimentary law. After debate 
between Springer and Reed, Crisp sustained Reed's point 
of order. Springer jumped up and said, "Mr. Speaker, 
notwithstanding your ruling I believe that I am right, 
and I would rather be right than be president." Reed re- 
plied "Springer, you will never be either." I was about 
as green and ignorant as any, but I was observant and 
watchful. In the fifty-first Congress when Reed enforced 
his "counting quorum rule," the Republican majority was 
small. Sickness and other causes made it hard to keep a 
quorum. Several colored Republicans from southern 
states were contesting Democrat's seats. It became neces- 
sary to seat some of these contestants to maintain a 
Republican qviorum, so the committee brought in a rule 
for the consideration and disposal of some of these cases. 
Thirty minutes debate was allowed each side when a vote 
was to be taken. The rule was adopted and the debate be- 
gun, then the vote was taken and the colored Republican 
seated. The Democrats were furious. They retired to the 
cloak room and denounced Reed as a "Czar" to each other. 
While they were there another election case was called 
up and another colored Republican seated. The Democrats 
rushed back to their seats and began to call, "Mr. Speaker, 
Mr. Speaker." Reed sat quiet in the speaker's chair until 
the tumult had somewhat subsided. Then he said, "Gentle- 

158 



men, you remind me of an old farmer up in Maine. He 
used to come to market town every Saturday afternoon 
and always drive home drunk. One time he was so drunk 
that he fell out of the buggy and the wheel ran over him. 
He yelled, "Whoa!" so loud that the old mare backed up 
and ran over him again. What is the pleasure of the 
house?" 

Crisp was re-elected speaker in the 53rd Congress and 
W. L. Wilson became chairman of the Ways and Means 
Committee. W. J. Bryan was a member. In this Con- 
gress Reed forced the Democrats to adopt his rule to count 
a quorum. It was only modified in this, that instead of 
the speaker counting the quorum he appointed a member 
from each side of the house to count the members present 
and on their report to the speaker, he declared that a 
quorum was present if there was one. For two weeks 
Reed blocked all legislation in the house and demonstrated 
absolutely the absurdity of the Democratic claim that 
quorum counting was unnecessary. Our side of the house 
did not answer when our names were called and as the 
answers of the Democrats did not show a quorum nothing 
could be done but call the roll again. The Democratic 
majority was small and they could not secure an attend- 
ance of a majority of the house. 

"Charles Culbertson from Texas was Chairman of the 
Judiciary Committee of which I was a member. Gov. 
Sayer of Texas was chairman of the Appropriation Com- 
mittee. They were both very able men. I got an appro- 
priation through this Congress for a Post Office in Alle- 
gheny City through the help of Sayre. It was in the short 
session, and during the previous summer an old house in 
Pittsburgh had been torn down and while clearing out 
the cellar and excavating deeper, a barrel of old Monon- 

159 



gahela whiskey was found that had probably been there 
for many years. It was bottled and the contractor gave 
me a quart of it. I sent it to Sayre. He always said that 
the whiskey saved the Allegheny Post Office. It was very 
fine whiskey. 

The principal work of this Congress was the passage 
of the Wilson tariff bill. It was practically a free trade 
bill when it left the House, but the Senate put over six 
hundred amendments to it which changed its character 
entirely. When it came back in the House every one of 
the Senate amendments was rejected and a conference de- 
manded. The Democratic Senators told the House Leaders 
that they must accept the amendments or pass no bill; that 
if the bill got back to the Senate it would not pass at all, 
and so with much disgust and indignation the House with- 
drew its objection to the amendments and passed the bill 
as amended, when it went direct to the President without 
further Senate action. When the vote was announced 
there was no applause on the other side of the House, 
but W. J. Bryan and five or six colleagues went down to 
Wilson and took him upon their shoulders and carried him 
into the cloak room amid the sullen silence of the Demo- 
crats and the laughter and derision of the Republicans. 
Reed said to a few sitting around him, "An old negro 
chased an opossum all through a rainy afternoon and 
finally got him. He took him home and dressed and 
stuffed and baked him and sat down to eat him, but he 
was so fatigued and weak from his long hunt that he fell 
asleep. Another colored man came along and looking 
through the window saw the old man asleep with the 
oppossum in front of him. He slipped into the room ; 
took the opossum out and ate him. Then putting back 
the bones' in front of the old man and dropping some fat 

160 



and stuffing on his breast and sleeves, slipped out again 
and awaited the result. When the old man awoke he 
stared at the opossum bones, saw the fat and stuffing 
on his breast and arms, felt of his empty stomach. "Fo 
de Lord," said he, "dis nigger must have eaten dat possum, 
but it is de most onsatisfactory meal dis nigger ever had." 
There was a comfortable Republican majority in the 
54th Congress and 'in the short session preceding it I 
joined with Warren Hooker and Jim Sherman of New 
York, Barthold of Missouri, Loudenslager of New Jer- 
sey, Hemingway of Indiana and others in an attempt to 
organize the next House. We selected Alex McDowell 
of Pennsylvania for clerk, a man from New York as door- 
keeper, a man from Missouri as Sergeant-at-arms, and an 
Ohio man for Postmaster. These four men had about two 
hundred and fifteen appointments. The older members 
had divided these appointments among themselves up to 
this time and they were all against our slate. Reed, Ding- 
ley, Cannon, Henderson, Payne, and nearly all the older 
men had a slate of their own. The contest became quite 
sharp, but there was no opposition to Reed for speaker. 
There were a good many young men in the House. VV'^e 
were all much concerned about our committees, but we 
trusted Reed to play fair and not to use his committees to 
elect his slate. He was importuned to do so but refused. 
Through the influence of Quay, Pennsylvania's thirty 
Republican members were solid for our slate and applying 
the Cameron rule of politics, in the proper placing of two 
hundred fifteen appointments, our slate was nominated in 
the House caucus by a large majority. There was much talk 
about "a hog combine," but the leaders of the opposition 
got a few appointments, and in order to get these. they 
had to be "good." I became the sole member of the slate 

161 



committee. I believe I carried out every promise, and 
that my management was satisfactory. 

Reed sent for me as he did for others to consult about 
committee appointments. He asked me what committee 
I wanted. I told him that I wanted floor work and would 
prefer to be on the Appropriation Committee. He said, 
"You have given me great relief. I supposed that you 
wanted to be chairman of Ways and Means." He said 
Harry Bingham had been on Appropriations for years and 
it was unusual to put two of the same party from the same 
state on a committee and he must put Bingham on. I 
called his attention to the size of our state and its large 
Republican delegation. Well, he said, he supposed he 
would have to do it. He said he had trouble about the 
committees. I asked him if he had settled on any of them 
yet? He said "not finally, but if I live I am going to put 
Sauerherring of Vermont on Fish and Fislieries." He 
named over several for Banking and Currency. I said, 
"Those men will never agree upon a bill in the world." 
He said, "That's why I am going to appoint them." He 
thought he ought to appoint a Democrat from a certain 
southern state on the Ways and Means Committee and 
asked me which of two men he named was the abler man. 
I named one of them. "That settles it," says he. "The 
other fellow gets it. I don't wont any more trouble in 
that committee than is necessary." I recommended Hooker 
of New York for chairman of Rivers and Harbors, and all 
of the men who had been active in our slate contest for 
the committees of their choice. He subsequently appointed 
all of them as requested. He put me next to Chairman 
Joseph C. Cannon on Appropriations and I became with 
Cannon and Sayre, the sundry civil sub-committee, the 
principal sub-committee of the Appropriation Committee. 

162 



In this position I had plenty of floor work and met in con- 
ference different senators. I worked very hard and was 
growing to be an active, useful man in Congress. I found 
that tact and easy address were main factors in accom- 
plishing results. I had no opposition for renomination to 
Congress and was generally regarded as a fixture in Con- 
gress. I was a strong supporter of Reed and had his con- 
fidence. He called me the House whip. I pushed an 
appropriation bill through for a Soldiers' home at Danville, 
Cannon's home town, against his vote. I knew that he 
wanted it passed but was afraid to support any one of 
the several towns in Illinois which wanted it. I liked 
Cannon. He was able and honest. I kept house on Q 
Street in Washington and had prominent members of the 
Senate and House frequently to dinner. I thoroughly 
liked Reed. I had a horse and two-seated carriage and on 
Sundays in summer frequently drove Reed out to the 
Falls of the Potomac, where we had a picnic. Usually Dal- 
zell and Bob Cousins were with us. Reed thought that 
he could make better milk punch than any one else. We 
all agreed with him and each would bring a luncheon and we 
would spread it on a horse blanket under a tree, and en- 
joy it, while Reed's wonderful humor and the milk punch 
greatly added to the entertainment. 

Stephen A. English, the author of Ben Bolt, was a mem- 
ber of the House from New Jersey. Everybody loved Ben 
Bolt, but English had grown old and crabbed and insisted on 
making a speech on nearly every bill. He was a Democrat. 
Obtaining recognition he would step down in front of the 
speaker and talk until his time was exhausted. I had charge 
of an appropriation bill in the House one day to which there 
was much opposition. Controlling the time allotted, I had 
yielded to different members on both sides until I had only 

163 



eight minutes left to close the debate. I arose to speak 
when English asked for five minutes. I would have been 
justified in refusing it, but I said, "Mr. Speaker, I have only 
eight minutes left in which to answer the numerous ob- 
jections to this bill. I cannot yield five minutes to the 
gentlemen from New Jersey but I yield five minutes to the 
author of Ben Bolt." There was applause. English con- 
sumed the whole eight minutes. When the vote was taken, 
to my surprise the bill passed by a good majority. 

Before the 55th Congress was organized, in the short 
session of the 54th, Hopkins of Illinois conceived the idea 
that he could beat Reed for speaker. He had seen how 
easily we had elected our slate of officers in the 54th Con- 
gress and he undertook to follow the same plan. He was 
an able, ambitious man, but he was different from Reed. 
He had red hair while Reed had scarcely any. He con- 
ferred with our organization and by liberal offers of com- 
mittee appointments got the boys interested. I was in 
Pittsburgh attending court. I got several telegrams from 
my friends urging me to come to Washington. When 
I got there they told me of Hopkins' ambition. I sat down 
on it flat. I told them that no matter what they did Penn- 
sylvania's thirty Republican votes would be solid for 
Reed. That settled it. Hopkins abandoned his candidacy 
for speaker. When the 55th Congress organized there 
was no opposition to Reed and he was nominated and 
elected speaker. I was anxious to pass an Immigration 
Bill which I had introduced. It was before the Immigra- 
tion Committee. Reed was opposed to my bill, and to the 
further restriction of immigration. He had appointed 
Barthold of Missouri chairman of the Immigration Com- 
mittee. Barthold shared Reed's views on immigration. 
This committee reported Barthold's bill one morning. 

164 



Under the rules an amendment could be offered to the 
bill. Then an amendment to the amendment and then a 
substitute after which no further offers could be made. 
Barthold had arranged to have an amendment offered, 
also an amendment to the amendment and then a substi- 
tute. I was busy and did not catch on. When the amend- 
ment, and amendment to the amendment had been offered 
and a member rose to offer a substitute Reed said, "The 
gentlemen from- Pennsylvania has the floor." At the same 
time Bert Kennedy came running down to my seat and 
said, "The Speaker says hurry up and offer your bill as a 
substitute. I grabbed it out of my desk and got up. Reed 
recognized me and I offered it as a substitute. The vote 
came first on the substitute. I had my speech. If it had 
not been for Reed I would have been shut out. Afterwards 
I said to Reed, "That was very nice of you. 1 appreciate 
it." He said, "Yes, I think you fared quite as well as if 
you had turned in for that red-headed sun of a gun from 
Illinois for Speaker." There had been no talk between 
Reed and me about Hopkin's candidacy for Speaker. Reed 
was the best allround man in Congress or in public life 
during his day. The greatest conversationalists that I 
have ever known were James G. Blaine, Benjamin Harris 
Brewster and Senator Fry of Maine. I knew all of the 
men in national public life of that period personally. 

The political situation in Pennsylvania in the begin- 
ning of 1896 was troublesome. John Wanamaker who had 
been Postmaster General under Harrison was contesting 
Quay's leadership of the party. McKinley was a candidate 
for President. Wanamaker, Magee, and Flinn were sup- 
porting him. Quay was silent. I realized that McKinley 
would be nominated. I wanted to retain the leadership 
in Quay. He was in Florida. I wrote out a paper to be 

165 



signed by the Republican Congressmen of the state asking 
Quay to be a candidate for President. I thought that Quay 
could get the majority of the delegates to the National 
Convention. The paper set forth that the sentiment was 
strong for Quay in their districts. I had made appoint- 
ments in the House for these congressmen. I was still the 
sole member of the slate committee. I obtained the signa- 
tures of all the Pennsylvania Republican members of the 
House but John Dalzell, Geo. HufT, and the member from 
the York district. I kept it quiet. When Quay returned 
from Florida I called upon him and advised him to be a 
candidate far President and get control of the delegates 
to the National Convention. That would put him in a 
situation to control the patronage of our slate under Mc- 
Kinley. He approved the plan but said he could not be 
a candidate without some sentiment in the state for him. 
I said, "suppose the Congressmen for our state should 
sign a call upon you to be a candidate. He said, "They 
would not do it." I said, "They have done it." I showed 
him my paper. That night the reporters of the associated 
press were sent for, and the leading papers in the whole 
country announced Quay's candidacy the next morning. 
The call signed by the congressmen was published with an 
appropriate acceptance from Quay. A spirited contest 
arose for delegates throughout the state between Quay 
and McKinley, I became a candidate for delegate to the Na- 
tional Convention from my district. Magee and Flinn called 
the county committee together and had them pass a resolu- 
tion that the voters could vote their choice for President and 
that the candidates for national delegate must agree to sup- 
port the candidate for President whom the majority vote 
favored. I refused to agree to this and sent out a card 
to the voters that I did not want them to vote instructions, 

166 



that I was a candidate and if elected I would vote for 
Quay. I was elected and out of the four or five thousand 
votes only three or four hundred voted instructions. A 
very large majority of the delegates elected were for Quay. 
This brought about a meeting between Quay and Mark 
Hanna by which, after a state complimentary vote for 
Quay, the delegates were to go to McKinley. This pro- 
gramme was carried out. The opposition to Quay was 
unhorsed and Quay controlled the patronage under Mc- 
Kinley. 

Quay was the best politician of his day, but McKinley 
was a better diplomat and showed more of statesmenship 
in his poltics. But the two of them with Tom Piatt who 
Vv^as a pastmaster, made a great trio. McKinley was elected, 
together with a Republican House and Senate. The coun- 
try had had enough of Democracy. The great trouble with 
the Democratic party in Congress was that the brains and 
leadership were in the Southern States. In the south the 
office of congressman was the most remunerative ofhce. 
The salary was five thousand dollars per year with post- 
age, allowance and mileage, while in the north judges re- 
ceived ten and fifteen thousand dollars per year. Naturally 
the ambition of southern men centered in Congress, while 
in the north Congress did not attract men reaching for 
large incomes. The result was that the brainiest, most 
capable men came from the southern states, and brains in 
Congress, as well as in all other activities, win. But the 
southern men did not understand or appreciate the indus- 
trial and commercial activity of the north. They were en- 
vironed by the conditions of the south. They thought that 
the way to make the south prosperous was to reduce the 
prosperity of the north. They did not understand the true 
rule that the prosperity of the north insured the prosperity 

167 



of the south, and thus populism and Bryanism controlled. 
They foolishly thought that by legislation they could make 
one community prosperous and another poor and so they 
diverted their great abilities into foolish and unproductive 
channels. They were quixotic in their theories and fought 
w^indmills instead of facts. They were impractical and 
the northern representatives with less abilities overpowered 
them because of their practical knowledge. A protective 
tariff that insured the home market to home producers 
was the best thing for the south but they fought it be- 
cause it increased the price to consumers, ignoring the 
fact that the price to consumers is subordinate to the 
ability of the consumer to pay. The prosperity of none 
of the states can be reduced by runious competition with 
imported products without reducing the prosperity of all 
of the states, neither can any one of the states be pros- 
perous while all of the others are not. Our interstate com- 
merce is so interwoven, that what affects one state affects 
them all. Legislation for consumers at the expense of 
producers in this country is a mistake. All producers are 
consumers, while there are many consumers who are not 
producers and earners. Any legislation that reduces pro- 
duction and earnings affects by far the largest number. 
When a man is earning good wages he can afford to pay 
high prices. When he is not earning good wages he cannot 
afford to pay high prices. When a producer can sell his 
products at a fair profit he can afford to pay good wages. 
Destroy his profits and he must cease to produce, or reduce 
wages. In either event his employees suffer with him. 
Cripple any industry by ruinous competition or interfering 
laws and you injure all connected with it and benefit no 

168 



one. Regulation of trade and commerce is right, but laws 
that impose a penalty on success are bad. 

During the campaign of 1896 I made a great many 
speeches in Pennsylvania and other states for McKinley. 
I was a fairly good stump speaker. I had had much ex- 
perience and could handle a heckler very well. I was 
not always happy in my replies to questions from the 
audience, but the sympathy of the audience was alw^ays 
with the speaker and they would applaud any reply that 
the speaker made. But once I hit upon a good retort. 

There was much distress under Cleveland's adminis- 
tration, through 1893, 1894, 1895 and 1896, among laboring 
men. Many industries were suspended and many mills 
were closed. I was discussing the hard times under Demo- 
cratic government at Sharon, Pa., at a large meeting, when 
a man got up in the audience and said, "There have been 
no strikes under Cleveland's administration." "No," 1 
said, "A man has to get a job before he can strike. Under 
Cleveland there have been no strikes because there have 
been no jobs." I was asked no further questions. The 
audience evidenced their appreciation of my retort. They 
applauded well. 



169 



CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
Governor of Pennsylvania. 

In 1897 I became ambitious to be Governor of Penn- 
sylvania. I could have remained in Congress and perhaps 
it would have been wiser to do so, but the office of Gover- 
nor of my state appealed to me and I resigned from Con- 
gress and became a candidate. My opponents for the nom- 
ination were John Wanamaker of Philadelphia, and Charles 
W. Stone of Warren, a member of Congress and former 
Secretary of State and Lieutenant Governor. They were 
both strong men, both thoroughly acquainted with the 
people of the state and both popular. Ever since Wana- 
maker was Postmaster General in Harrison's Cabinet, he 
had been opposing Quay. I had no promise of Quay's sup- 
port. Wanamaker started a stumping tour over the state, 
holding his first meeting at Towanda in Bradford County. 
I followed him, speaking wherever he did. We both had 
large audiences everywhere. This was the first and only 
time that candidates for Governor stumped the state before 
the primary elections for delegates were held. Our contest 
was quite spirited. The daily newspapers in Philadelphia 
and Pittsburgh had reporters with us and published full ac- 
counts of our meetings and speeches. Naturally the Quay 
men who were all opposed to Wanamaker were for me. 

Charles W. Stone did not hold any meetings. When 
Wanamaker went to Towanda he got the Black Diamond 
train on the Lehigh Valley Railroad to stop there for him. 
It had never stopped for any of the people of Towanda. 
He had a valet with him, who was a curiosity in Towanda. 
The people had heard of them but had never seen one be- 

170 



fore. I had Alex McDowell, clerk of the House at Wash- 
ington, with me. He was past middle life and had grey- 
hair and whiskers. He looked every inch the Bishop. He 
was a great humorist and storyteller. When I began tp 
speak before a large audience in Towanda, I said that Mr. 
Wanamaker was submitting his candidacy to the people and 
I was doing the same, that I had no promise of Quay's sup- 
port as charged and did not know whether he would support 
me or not. I hoped that he would, that I was going to 
follow Wanamaker and speak wherever he did, that I would 
try to observe the same conditions that he did, that I had 
tried to get the Lehigh Valley Railroad officials to stop the 
Black Diamond train for me but failed, that at my request 
Quay had tried to get it stopped, but had failed, that I 
apologized to the people for coming there in an ordinary 
day-coach, but that I had after much effort got a valet, 
that he was on the stage with me, and pointed to McDowell. 
They knew who he was and there was much applause. 
This broke the ice and Iwas listened to very closely and 
I thought I had made a good impression. While I was 
speaking McDowell had time to think out what he was 
going to say and when he followed me, he soon had the 
audience roaring with laughter. I had not previously said 
anything to him about introducing him as my valet. He 
indignantly denied that he was my valet. He said, I was 
his, that I blackened his boots and shaved him every morn- 
ing. We left the audience in good feeling. We said noth- 
ing against Wanamaker nor did we reply to his charges 
against Quay and his railroad support, except to say that 
it seemed that he did not have as much influence with the 
Lehigh Valley as Wanamaker. We followed Wanamaker 
in the different towns of the state where he spoke and 
things seemed coming my way when I got word that there 

171 



was serious trouble in Allegheny County. I had always 
had the delegates in my congressional district and the Mc- 
Keesport district. I was not expecting or trying to elect 
any delegates in the other districts of the county. Magee 
was setting up delegates against me in my district. I saw 
at once that I could not be nominated if I had no delegates 
from my county. I went to Pittsburgh and found that the 
report was correct. I got a few of my friends together and 
we went to see William Flinn and J. O. Brown. We pro- 
tested that it was not fair, that I did not have the money 
to make the fight that they did, and with a liberal use of it 
some of my delegates might be defeated. Flinn said he 
left the matter of state delegates to Magee. I told him that 
if they insisted on this course I would have to abandon 
my speaking tour with Wanamaker and come back home 
and give my whole time to secure the election of delegate.<=. 
Flinn said, "That was probably what Wanamaker and Ma- 
gee wanted." Sam Grier, Frank Torrance, John Murphy, 
Walter Lyon and William H. Graham, friends of mine, and 
all friends of Flinn's were very warm in their protest and 
finally Flinn said, "It did not seem fair; that he would see 
Magee." There was a meeting between my friends and 
Flinn and Brown the next day. I was conceded the dele- 
gates in my congressional district. Of the three in Mc- 
Keesport district I got one and Magee the other. Sam Grier 
threw up a cent, Torrance called heads for me and Brown 
tails for Magee, and tails won. I joined McDowell at the 
meeting the next night. A majority of the delegates elected 
in the state were for me. That did not mean my nomina- 
tion, as Quay could have nominated either of us or an en- 
tirely dark horse. I have ever been an optimist and I ex- 
pected to be nominated. There was no conference, consul- 
tation or talk between Quay and me after the election of 

172 



delegates or between our representatives. I did not see him. 
Numerous attempts were made to get Quay to nominate 
some one else. One delegation said to him, "Our man will 
do just as you tell him, the same as Stone would." "Yes, 
said Quay, but I would have to tell him and I would not 
have to tell Stone. He would know what to do without 
telling." As the convention approached, Quay told Bois 
Penrose that he would not attend the convention if Bill 
Andrews did. Andrews had been very active for me and 
it was said by hostile papers that he was to be my secretary 
of state and would control my administration. Penrose and 
I had an interview with Andrews to persuade him not to 
attend the convention. Penrose stated to him what Quay 
said. Andrews was indignant. Penrose said, "If you at- 
tend the convention Stone's nomination will be credited 
to you and it will be hard to elect him. You must sacrifice 
your greatness for the good of the party." Andrews was 
not popular. Penrose used very persuasive arguments and 
finally Andrews consented to stay away. The convention 
assembled ; Quay was present. His attitude throughout 
was of one who desired the nomination of the strongest man 
to lead the ticket. Various compromise candidates sprung 
up. Quay conferred with them and their representatives. 
I did not see him at the convention. He was apparently 
considering for the good of the party. He knew that the 
convention would nominate me if he did not interfere. My 
campaign in the state against Wanamaker had made me 
many friends. The convention organized. I had selected 
Pom Marshall of Pittsburgh to nominate me, but ill health 
prevented his attendance and he sent his son, Tom Mar- 
shall, Jr., who presented my name to the convention in a 
masterly speech. I was nominated amid great applause 
and became the party candidate for Governor. The Pro- 

173 



hibitionists nominated Dr. Swallow of Harrisburg, and the 
Democrats nominated George Jenks of Jefferson County. 
The campaign was very sharp and exciting. Swallow and 
Jenks were both able men and good stumpers. All through 
September and October meetings were held. The fear was 
that Swallow would get enough Republican votes to elect 
Jenks. I had with me a good troup of spellbinders, Alex 
McDowell, W. I. Schaffer of Chester, John P. Elkin, the 
chairman of the Republican State Committee ; Tom Stewart, 
the Adjutant General; Bois Penrose and other good speak- 
ers. We went from county to county and held meetings in 
the principal towns. Every few days startling head lines 
would appear in the newspapers that called for special 
attention. There was a strong organization in the state 
known as the A. P. A.'s. Their principal purpose was 
hostility to the Catholic Church. A lodge in Allegheny 
County with the intention of helping me, elected me a mem- 
ber and gave public notice that 1 would be initiated on a 
certain night, notifying neighboring lodges to attend. I 
had not been consulted. They were very strong through- 
out the state and supposed as a matter of course that I 
would join. I was up against it. If I declined there was 
danger of losing the A. P. A. vote and if I joined I would 
lose the Catholic vote. I did not consult any one. I knew 
what to do. I wrote to the lodge saying that to join any 
organization while I was a candidate would only mean that 
I was doing it to get votes, that I would not join any secret 
society for that purpose. My letter was published in all 
the papers. Secret Society support has never been as potent 
as opposition to it. This was demonstrated when Joseph 
Ritner was elected Governor of Pennsylvania as an anti- 
masonic candidate. 

174 



The previous legislature had passed a bill appropria- 
ting five hundred thousand dollars for the construction of a 
capitol building. Some walls had been built. There was 
scandal about it. Swallow wrote me a letter asking me to 
discuss it in public with him and repeated the scandal. I 
wrote a letter to the district attorney at Harrisburg enclos- 
ing Swallow's letter and asking him to subpoena Swallow 
before the next grand jury to testify to what he knev^^ about 
the capitol scandal, to the end that the guilty men might 
be indicted and punished, that I knew nothing about it but 
that evidently Swallow did, and that he no doubt would 
perform his duty as a good citizen and help bring the guilty 
parties to punishment. This letter with Swallow's was 
given publicity through the newspapers, but I heard no^ 
more about it. It kept me busy to pilot through all the 
charges and plans of smart scheming men, without putting 
my foot in it. There was an organization in the state, nick- 
named the Hairless Goats. I knew nothing about it. Their 
creed charged that Lincoln was assassinated by a plot of 
the Catholic Church, that Mrs. Surrat and J. Wilkes Booth 
were Catholics and that they were mere instruments of the 
church in Lincoln's assassination. I was in Blair County 
vv^here I met a friend v/ho advised me to join them. He 
told me that Swallow was a high priest in the order, that 
a certain Rev. Challon was the chaplain. I had met Chal- 
lon. He was a joiner and chaplain of the Masonic Lodge 
in Harrisburg, also of the A. P. A. Lodge and the Junior 
Order of the United American Mechanics. This was too 
deep for me. I told Quay about it and John P. Elkin. A 
letter was written to Chaplain Challon by a friend in Blair 
County who was a Hairless Goat asking for information as 
to the candidates for Governor, and if either was a Hairless 
Goat, that the members in Blair County were strong and 

175 



they wanted to vote for a "Goat." Challon replied that the 
fight was between Swallow and me, that I was not a mem- 
ber of the order, that Swallow was and if they wanted to 
drive the Catholics out of the state to vote for Swallow. 
These letters were lithographed and copies sent to every 
Catholic Priest in the state. They brought fruit. I was go- 
ing from Harrisburg to Sunbury on the train when an 
Irish Catholic Priest whispered to me : "We will beat the 
heretic." They did. The catholic vote was very strong 
for me. I was elected by a large majority. 

From the time of my election to inauguration I did 
not see Quay or get any message from him. He attended 
the inauguration and after the oath was administered to 
me by my friend Justice Williams of the Supreme Court 
there was a conference at the executive mansion. I had 
promised no appointments. Quay did not ask me to ap- 
point any one in my cabinet. He was always embarassed 
by patronage and often said to me that he wished all of 
the offices were under the civil service law. There were 
so many of his friends to whom he was under obligations 
that it was always a serious problem with him which one 
to recommend. He asked me whom I thought of appoint- 
ing. I told him — W. W. Griest of Lancaster for Secre- 
tary of State, John P. Elkin for Attorney General and 
Israel W. Durham for Insurance Commissioner. Pie asked 
me if I had promised any of them. I told him I had not. 
After some reflection, he said that he thought that I could 
not do better than to appoint them. I did so and they 
were confirmed by the Senate. I was very fortunate in 
my selections. They were all able, loyal men, true to me 
and their state. I had selected Edgar C. Gerwig of Alle- 
gheny as my private secretary, which was fortunate, for he 
was very capable and loyal. He had been my private 

176 



secretary for several years in Washington. My list was 
completed with T. L. Eyre as Superintendent of Public 
Grounds and Buildings, and later with General Frank 
Reeder as Commissioner of Banking. To all of these men 
I owe much, for their loyal support and efficiency in office. 
They were splendid men. I will not go over in detail the 
four years of my administration. 

I had much to contend with ; a deadlock in the first 
legislature over the election of a United States Senator 
and serious strikes in the anthracite coal fields ; a deficit 
in the treasury and many complicating political questions. 
I got very little assistance out of Quay, for he was not a 
dictator. He never asked me to make but one appointment 
and that was Lewis Beitler to be Deputy Secretary of the 
Commonwealth. I appointed him. The first vacancy in 
the Supreme Court came shortly before the state Con- 
vention met. He advised me to wait until after the con- 
vention, that it would likely take the responsibility oflt 
my hands. I did so. The convention nominated Hon. J. 
Hay Brown of Lancaster, the present Chief Justice of the 
Supreme Court, a most eminent lawyer and great jurist. 
There were two vacancies on the Supreme Court. S. 
Leslie Mestrezat of Uniontown was nominated by the 
Democratic State Convention, and as electors could each 
only vote for one, he was elected. This was very for- 
tunate. He has become a great judge, respected by every 
one. 

I appointed Quay to succeed himself in the United 
States Senate after he was acquitted in the Criminal Court 
of Philadelphia on the charge of violating the election laws 
of the state, and the legislature had refused to elect his 
successor. While his appointment was not accepted by 
the United States Senate, at the following election where 

177 



his candidacy was the issue, a majority of the senators 
and members of the legislature were elected in his favor 
and he was re-elected United States Senator. Previous to 
the November election another vacancy occurred in the 
Supreme Court. Some twenty men in the state expected 
Quay's support for this appointment. He was a candidate 
for the United States Senate. Had any one of them been 
appointed he would have made the friend appointed help- 
less to him by his appointment and made nineteen enemies 
out of the others. I saw a way to help a friend and at 
the same time render Quay an important service. I told 
Quay that I was going to appoint my law partner William 
P. Potter of Pittsburgh. He recommended in succession 
his twenty friends. I refused all of his recommendations 
and appointed Potter. He was the only man in the state 
I could have appointed without making trouble for Quay. 
Nobody charged Potter's appointment to Quay and the 
twenty applicants remained staunch friends of Quay's. 
I was not influenced alone by the desire to serve Quay. I 
knew that Potter was an honest, capable lawyer and that 
he would make a good judge. His record on the bench has 
justified my appointment. 

The second legislature gave me much trouble. They 
passed two bills, one called the ripper bill to change the 
city government of Pittsburgh and the other to erect a 
state capitol building at liarrisburg. I tried to escape both 
but could not. The ripper bill was unpopular, but it was 
a good bill and the fact that it still remains the law, Vv'ith- 
out any material change after fifteen years of trial proves 
its merits. 

I gained a good many enemies through ignorance and 
prejudice and newspaper articles, but that has long since 
subsided. I determined to have nothing to do with the 

178 



construction of the capitol building or else to have all to 
do with it, for I expected scandal, and that many people 
would not believe that politicians could erect an expensive 
building without graft. I moulded the bill to suit me under 
threat of a veto. It appropriated four millions of dollars and 
put the construction of the building entirely in my hands 
by making me and four men to be appointed by me, the 
commissioners. Quay refused to have anything to do with 
it, and said every one connected with it would get in the 
penitentiary. I appointed Edward Bailey of Harrisburg, 
Professor N. C. Shafter of Lancaster, Wm. H. Graham of 
Allegheny, and Senator Snyder of Chester County, com- 
missioners. We appointed Robert K. Young, solicitor, T. 
L. Eyre, superintendent, and E. C. Gerwig, secretary. I 
will not speak in detail of the troubles which we had over 
granite and plans. We were four years in completing it 
and built the finest capital building in the country and 
turned a considerable sum of money back to the state 
treasury. There has never been any scandal or breath of 
suspicion over the construction of this building. I do not 
speak of the furnishing and equipment of the building un- 
der the administration of my successor. I had nothing 
whatever to do with that. 

Elkin was a candiate for Governor in 1902. His 
opponent was Samuel W. Pennypacker. All of the op- 
position to my administration centered against Elkin. 
Quay's influence was against him, and Elkin carried a ma- 
jority of the delegates, but was beaten by the most corrupt 
and shameless purchase of his delegates in the convention, 
that the state had ever seen. Elkin and his friends sup- 
ported Pennypacker and he was elected. The shameless 
purchase of Elkin's delegates made great trouble in the 
party which was not entirely healed by Elkin's nomination 

179 



and election to the Supreme Court in 1904. Many changes 
occurred in our primary election laws and amendments to 
the constitution. 

In the fall of 1902 I visited Mexico. I was in the 
largest cities and spent some ten days in the City of 
Mexico. My wife and daughter, Isabel, accompanied me, 
also General Frank Reeder and wife and Mr. and Mrs. 
T. L. Eyre, their son Wallace and Frank Rodgers. I was 
much interested in the people of that country. They 
seemed to me very irresponsible citizens, rather given to 
disorder tlian order, and that safety of life and property 
was inditlerent to them. A turbulent people, quick to take 
offense and easily excited, jealous, suspicious and quarrel- 
some. A mixture of Spanish blood with the native has 
not produced good law-abiding citizens. Their patriotism 
and their ambitions are purely personal. The welfare and 
prosperity of the country is secondary to the welfare and 
advancement of ambitious citizens. President Diaz seemed 
to be the only person who was able to keep the country 
tranquil and the people law-abiding. If, as President he 
sometimes did unlawful things they were done to keep 
peace and public order. If he dealt summarily with tur- 
bulent spirits whose ambitions were leading them to riot 
and revolution, it was because he believed it to be the only 
way to meet the situation, not so much to sustain his own 
prestige as to preserve the public peace, credit and pros- 
perity of the country. Prior history and subsequent events 
prove that he was right. He has been the only man that 
has really ever governed Mexico since Cortez. He gave 
our party an audience through the instrumentality of our 
Ambassador, General Powell. We rode to the capitol in 
carriages accompanied by General Powell, one sunny after- 
noon. We were conducted through spacious rooms and 

180 



corridors much more richly furnished than any rooms in 
the capitol and White House at Washington. Officers in 
splendid uniform saluted us and guards and soldiers in 
bright uniforms stood at attention. Costly mirrors and 
furniture and the best works of the masters in painting 
and marble with expensive carpets and curtains were taste- 
fully arranged in the rooms. After being conducted 
through a number of the large rooms we were seated in 
a smaller room more richly and beautifully furnished than 
any of the others. Officers in gaudy uniforms stood 
around. After waiting a few minutes a quiet, medium- 
sized man came into the room unannounced. We were 
presented to President Diaz. He stood and received us 
quietly and simply. Our conversation was through an 
interpreter. I said that I felt greatly honored to meet 
him. I wanted to pay him a compliment, so I told him that 
he looked like Senator Quay of Pennsylvania. He smiled 
at that. He did look and act like Quay. He had heard 
and read much of Quay. He was interested and asked me 
a number of questions about Quay, all of which I could 
readily answer. There was no importance or official bear- 
ing in him. He was dressed plainly in a suit of light ^ray 
clothing, which could have been bought at Wanamaker's for 
eighteen dollars. His shoes had probably been blacked 
the day before. His collar and shirt front were clean but 
his blue string necktie had not been recently pressed. He 
then shook hands with all of us in a quiet informal way 
and we were conducted out. He has always interested me. 
He could not have governed the United States as he gov- 
erned Mexico, neither could any of our Presidents have 
governed Mexico as they have governed the United States. 
I am of the opinion that Mexico will never be governed 
except by another Diaz. I found two young men there, 

181 



sons of Genneral Dent of Potter County, Pennsylvania. 
They had been engaged in business there several years, 
and were close observers, intelligent and successful in 
business. I knew their father. They were very kind to 
us and from them I learned much of Diaz's ways of gov- 
erning. The Americans in Mexico all had great confidence 
in Diaz. They all voted for him at every election. Some 
few years before my visit there was a failure of the corn 
crop in Mexico. The price of corn rose rapidly. It had 
nearly all been cornered by speculators and hard times 
were pressing the poor peons whose principal food is corn, 
ground by hand, between two stones, mixed with water and 
baked into cakes over a little wood fire in a corner of their 
miserable one-room adobe huts. There was a high tariff 
on corn from the states. So far as I could learn the con- 
stitution of Mexico is similar in most respects to our own 
and their laws gave no power to the President to suspend, 
lower or increase the tariffs fixed by congress. What 
was to be done? The President could convene congress, 
but before any law could be passed the suffering of the 
people would be great. Besides, it was doubtful whether 
congress would pass a remedial law against the influence 
of the corn speculators. There was plenty of cheap corn 
in the states clamoring to get into Mexico but prevented 
by the high tariff. This is what Diaz did. He issued a 
proclamation that if the price of corn after ten days was 
above the usual normal price he would suspend the tariff' 
on corn from the states until the next crop was harvested. 
This at once brought the price of corn down to the norpial 
and the sufferings of the poor people were over. Diaz had 
no legal right to do this, but outside of the criticisms of the 
corn speculators every one approved his action. 

Six miles out of Mexico is the Roman Catholic Cathe- 

182 



dral of Guadalupe. There on the twelfth day of December 
in each year come the faithful from far and near to be 
cured of their ills through the influence of a sacred relic 
which holds its sway through a legend which is every- 
where believed to be true. The legend is that after the 
conquest of Mexico and the introduction of the Roman 
Catholic Religion, a converted native was passing along 
a path where the Cathedral now stands, when the Virgin 
Mary appeared to him and told him to go and tell the 
bishop to build a Cathedral where she stood. The native 
told the bishop who paid no attention to the message, think- 
ing that if the Virgin Mary wanted a Cathedral built she 
would speak to him about it. He told the native that he 
must bring a token. A few days afterwards the native was 
again passing the same spot when he again saw the Virgin 
Mary. She asked him the result of her message to the 
bishop. The native said that the bishop would not pay any 
attention to him unless he brought a token. She pointed 
to a barren rock a few feet away when instantly there ap- 
peared beautiful roses in bloom. It was winter and there 
were no roses in the country. She told him to take them 
in his apron to the bishop and repeat her message. The 
native did so, and he let down his leather apron and 
the roses fell on the floor there was seen the face of the 
Virgin Mary on the apron as if it had been painted there. 
The Cathedral was built and each year this apron is ex- 
posed to the view of worthy, faithful believers, and it is 
said, makes many marvelous cures. A few years ago a 
reformer Priest began to preach that the legend was not 
sufificiently authenticated, that he did not believe that the 
face on the apron was the face of the Virgin Mary. He 
created great excitement, and there were outbreaks and 
riots. Diaz sent for the Priest and told him that his preach- 

183 



ing was creating great disturbance and if he kept it up riots 
would follow and it might result in revolution. The Priest 
said he was very sorry but that he could not accept the 
legend when his investigation led him to believe that it 
was not true. Diaz said, "So you do not believe that the 
Virgin Mary appeared to the Indian?" "No," said the 
Priest. But said Diaz, "You do believe that men occa- 
sionally, suddenly disappear in Mexico?" "Yes," said the 
Priest. "Well, said Diaz, my advice to you is to say no 
more against the legend of Guadalupe." The priest took 
the advice and preached no more against the legend and 
the tumult subsided. 



CHAPTER XXXIX: 

Return to Practice. 

I went back to Pittsburgh in 1903 and resumed the 
law practice with my son Stephen under the firm name of 
Stone and Stone. I had been away twelve years, eight 
years in congress and four years at Harrisburg. While 
Potter was in the office the clients were held pretty well 
and they had increased. Stephen had done well, but there 
had been a loss of some clients. I gave my whole time and 
attention to the law practice and soon was employed in 
some important Cc.ses. I fought in the courts as attorney 
for Allegheny City to prevent its consolidation with Pitts- 
burgh. The first act of the legislature providing for con- 
solidation was declared unconstitutional by the Supreme 
Court of the State, but the Governor called a special ses- 
sion of the legislature. D. T. Watson, one of the ablest 

184 



lawyers of his time prepared a new bill for consolidation. 
It was passed and sustained by the Supreme Court of the 
State and United States. 

My fortune was gone through the endorsements of 
notes for political friends, and losing investments, but I 
worked hard and won some important cases. I had had 
too much political experience to inspire my clients with 
any too great respect for my knowledge of the law, but 
I had tact and management and was a good actor before 
a jury. I had learned human nature and men in the 
greatest men's school in the world, the House of Represen- 
tatives at Washington. We gradually obtained quite a 
large and lucrative law practice. My son Stephen was 
more than an assistant. He became a very good lawyer 
and advocate and with A. Wilson McCandless our junior 
partner we worked advantageously. I will not speak of 
the many important cases that we tried. There was one 
however, which I will tell about, as it shows how tact and 
management play important, parts in a law suit before a 
jury. The Babcock Lumber Company, our clients, had 
purchased all of the timber on a fourteen hundred acre 
tract of land in Somerset County. Their contract provided 
that they should not cut any standing timber less than six 
inches in diameter two feet from the ground. The owners 
of the land claimed that the company had cut many trees 
less than six inches in diameter two fe£t from the ground. 
They sent a lot of men to measure the stumps of these 
trees, dashing a brush of red paint on each stump. They 
claimed for several thousand young trees which, under 
the statute of the state allowing three times the value, 
totaled a claim of about forty thousand dollars. I was 
taken into the case about a month before it was tried. I 
have always believed that it was quite improbable that 

185 



the average man will at all times do thorough and accurate 
work. The stumps were there each with a swish of red 
paint upon the top of it. I sent a gang of men to measure 
each stump and dig up and bring to the court house each 
and every stump with paint on it measuring more than six 
inches in diameter. In all the stumps they found eleven 
with paint on them that measured more than six inches 
across the top. I put each one in a paper flour sack and 
tied the top. The case was tried before Judge Koozer in 
Somerset County, a very able judge. When a witness for 
the plaintiff would testify to the measurement of the 
stumps, I would untie one of my stumps and pointing to 
the paint he would identify it as one of the stumps meas- 
ured for the plaintiff. I would then ask, "Did you actually 
measure all of the stumps with a rule?" He would reply, 
"We measured the most of them but we estimated some 
that were clearly less than six inches." "Is this stump 
less than six inches?" "Yes, measure it. Here is a rule." 
It measured six and a quarter inches and so I would de- 
stroy the testimony of each of the plaintiff's' witnesses and 
the eleven stumps like Joseph's lean kine in his dream, ate 
up and destroyed the thousands of the plaintiff's stumps. 
The verdict was necessarily for the defendant. Here was 
a case of overpreparedness by the plaintiff. If he had not 
painted his stumps he would have obtained a verdict. 

John Stewart -of Chambersburg had been elected a 
judge of the Supreme Court, while Robert von Moschzisker 
and Robert S. Frazer from Philadelphia and Pittsburgh had 
become members of the court. They were all very able 
and capable judges, having had much experience in the 
Common Pleas Courts of their counties. In October, 1915, 
this Court and the state met with a great loss in the death 
of John P. Elkin. The Governor appointed Emory A. 

186 



Walling of Erie a Common Pleas judge of state-wide repu- 
tation, an honest capable judge, as Elkin's successor. At 
a presentation of Judge Elkin's portrait to the Court by 
Mrs. Elkin I made a brief address at her request and insert 
it here as my estimate of the man and his character. 



CHAPTER XL. 



Remarks of William A. Stone at the Presentation of the 

Portrait of Justice John P. Elkin, Deceased, to the 

Supreme Court, March 20, 1916. 

"I first knew John P. Elkin in about 1895. He was 
then Deputy Attorney General. The Attorney General 
was H. C. McCormick, one of the ablest lawyers in the 
northern tier of counties. I saw him at intervals during 
the four years that he was Deputy Attorney General. He 
impressed me as a man of candor and sincerity from my 
first knowledge of him. In 1898 he was chairman of the 
Republican State Committee. My relation to him then 
became personal and intimate and remained so until his 
death. When he became Attorney General in January, 
1899, he brought to the office the skill and training he had 
learned from his predecessor and a thorough knowledge 
of the work of the office. There is no period of four years 
in the history of the State when the demands upon the 
Attorney General were more unusual and tested the ability 
of the lawyer so much, as they did during his occupancy 
of the office. Four great and far-reaching questions con- 
cerning the power of the Executive were settled and ad- 
judicated in the courts and the United States Senate by 

187 



him and his able Deputy, F. W. Fleitz, during this period. 
The first was the power of the Governor to veto a joint 
resohition seeking to amend the constitution of the state, 
resuhing in a decision by this court that such a resolution 
need not be presented to the Governor for his approval — 
reported in Commonwealth vs. Griest, 196 Pa., State Re- 
ports, page 396. Prior to this decision the Governors had 
been signing and vetoing such resolutions, frequently there- 
by preventing" the people from voting upon the adoption 
of the amendment. While the report of the case does not 
show him to have been connected with it still it was his 
plan and work to test the question and have it finally 
settled. 

The next question was of great importance, in which 
the power of the Governor to approve a part of an item 
in a general appropriation bill and veto a part of the same 
item was sustained in this court, reported in Common 
wealth vs. Barnett, 199 Pa. State Reports, page 161. Pre- 
vious to this decision it was generally supposed that Gov- 
ernors must either approve the whole item or veto it — 
many items were reluctantly approved by Governors be- 
cause they were in part meritorious and necessary. This 
resulted in a deficit in the treasury as the appropriations 
vv^ere invariably greater than the revenues. Since this 
decision the Governors have been able by reducing items 
to keej) the appropriations within the anticipated revenue. 
The next question was important to the whole country as 
\vell as this state. It was the power of the Governor to 
appoint a United States Senator while the legislature was 
in session. Judge Elkin argued this question before the 
Judiciary Committee of the United States Senate. His 
argument was so able that he was personally complimented 
by his opponent Senator Edmunds and by many able law- 

188 



yers and judges. But the most important question of all 
for the first time to be decided in any court in this country 
was the power of the Governor to declare martial law. In 
Commonwealth vs. Shortall, 206 Pa. State Reports, page 
165, you will find^ this case reported. It has been the lead- 
ing case upon this subject and settled the question for the 
first time holding that the Governor of a state may declare 
martial law and enforce it. It was a bold stand that Judge 
Elkin and his Deputy Attorney General took, fraught 
with serious consequences if not sustained by the courts 
but made necessary by the condition existing at the time 
in certain counties of this state. Fortunately, the patriot- 
ism of this court rose above the technical objections of 
skilled attorneys and by a unanimous opinion this court 
upheld .the order of the Governor and the commanding 
officer of the National Guard in practically making the 
civil authorities subordinate to the military authorities 
when circumstances justified extreme measures to pre- 
serve the public peace. 

Judge Elkin was fitted in the school of strenuous ex- 
perience to sit in the highest tribunal of the state and 
when he became a candidate for a place upon this bench 
the people of the state showed their appreciation of his 
merits by electing him a justice of this court by a large 
majority. Of his record as a justice of the court I will 
not speak. The published reports of his decisions are 
accessible to all. He was not new and unacquainted with 
the law when he came here. He was ripe with the study 
and experience of great constitutional and governmental 
questions. He early demonstrated by his opinions his 
familiarity with the issues that came before him. His 
opinions rank well with his predecessors and colleagues. 
His logic was keen, forcible, direct, compelling assent. 

189 



He grew and grew as a jurist with every year's experience 
until his rank and status as a judge was not questioned 
by any one. He worked hard and wrestled hard with the 
many difficult problems that came before him, but he 
settled every one of them in the eye of his judgment and 
conscience and never approved or disapproved a single 
great responsibility of his high office and never acquiesced 
in the opinion of others without testing and proving the 
result by knowledge obtained by investigation. He was 
conscientious. His motto was "Be fearless but first be 
right." He had great courage. Observant of public senti- 
ment he was yet independent of it and was never controlled 
by it. Glad when it approved his course, sorry when it 
did not, but at all times uninfluenced by it. He was a 
great judge, a righteous judge. But it is of his charming 
character as a man that I wish to speak. He was a loyal 
friend. He would sacrifice much for his friends. His 
friends were many. They all loved him. He held the 
key of sympathy with which he unlocked every troubled 
heart. He believed that suffering alone established a claim 
to sympathy. He never withheld it from man, woman or 
child. Absolutely clean morally himself, he yet never 
inflicted his morals upon others, and while not justifying 
short comings in them — the "holier than thou" thought 
never entered his mind. He was simple in his tastes and 
habits, very little sufficed him. He was not vain or proud 
or egotistical. Many envied him but none were his ene- 
mies. He was a great character. He was John Ridd in 
that matchless story, "Lorna Doon." The strength and 
beauty of his character were as wide and open as the sea. 
His friendship was like the shadow of a great rock in a 
desert land. He is gone. He sleeps in the bosom of the 
county that he loved. The rich and the poor alike had 

190 



tears for him and his untimely death. When Decoration 
Day comes his grave will be covered with flowers. They 
will not all come from the florist. There will be wild 
flowers plucked from poor men's gardens, the forests and 
the meadows. There will be flowers from the old and the 
young, little children who loved him, and for whom he 
always had a smile and a kind word will bring them. Their 
play will cease as they speak in hushed voices of the man 
who had such a wonderfully winning smile. Mr. Chief 
Justice, you can paint the lily, you can paint the rose so 
exact and truthful that it can hardly be distinguished from 
the model, but sir, there is one thing of the rose that you 
cannot paint, you cannot paint the fragrance of the rose. 
I can tell the story of John Elkin, I can tell of his rapid 
rise, his exploits, his conquests, I can speak of his great 
ability, his great sympathy for mankind, I can tell of his 
talents, but I cannot paint the fragrance of his character 
and his friendship or the great love, respect and veneration 
which his friends have for him." 

On December 10, 1915, the Judges of the Supreme 
Court appointed me its Prothonotary. I was appointed 
prothonotary of the Superior Court by the judges of that 
Court on March 4, 1916. The Superior Court was created 
by an act of the legislature in 1895. The tenure of 
office is ten years. Only one of the original members sur- 
vive, George B. Orlady. He was elected for the third time 
in 1915, and is now the President Judge of that court. His 
colleagues, William D. Porter, John J. Henderson, John 
B. Head, John W. Kephart, Frank M. Trexler and J. Henry 
Williams are all able, conscientious judges. This court 
from its organization has held high place in the Judiciary 
of our state. My predecessor was James T. Mitchell, Ex- 
Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. The office is a very 

191 



dignified and honorable one and the fees derived from it 
are sufficient to support me and those dependent on me. 
I have passed the age of three score years and ten and 
I am contented and satisfied. I have no apologies to make 
for what I have done or w^hat I have left undone. I have 
made some mistakes which were plainly apparent after- 
wards, but at the time I thought my action was for the 
best. 

I spend my summers at Four Mile Run in Tioga 
County where I have a comfortable cottage. Some of my 
children and grand-children are generally with me. Friends 
frequently visit me there. I have spent most of my time 
there from June to October for fifteen years. Neighboring 
cottages are occupied by Lloyd Smith, Frank Deans, 
Leonard Harrison, Bob Young, Henry Gardner and Wil- 
liam Champaign, all old Tioga County friends. It is a wild, 
beautiful gorge on Pine Creek with the mountains ranging 
from two thousand to twenty-three hundred feet above sea 
level all about, with no public road to it, but the New York 
Central Railroad. There are speckled trout in Four Mile 
Run and black bass in Pine Creek. I take great pleasure 
in studying their habits and catch my share of them. I am 
an optimist and do not waste any time in thinking about 
my mistakes or those of my friends. I am contented and 
happy. There are bear, deer, wild cats, porcupines, ground- 
hogs, pheasants, and squirrels about. We do not molest 
each other. I love to hear the wood thrush sing in the 
early morning and the wild cat cry at night. The black 
bass is the game fish in our Northern Pennsylvania waters. 
I love to watch him build his nest and rear his young. He 
will select a smooth, surface bottom near the shore where 
the water is still, with a normal depth of three or four 
inches, then he brings in his mouth smooth, round stone.^ 

192 



and lays them like a mosaic floor side by side, covering a 
circular place about eighteen inches in diameter. Then 
he brings larger stones and lays them in a wall around 
his floor. He then brings other small stones and lays 
three or four layers of floor, one above the other until 
they reach the surface of the water. His house is then 
finished and he fares forth in search of a mate. He courts 
her, bites her in the neck if she is unwilling and chases 
and drives her into the nest. If she spawns within a rea- 
sonable time she stays. If she does not he drives her off 
and seeks another. He sheds his milt over the spawn and 
drives her off. He will not allow her any part in raising 
the family. As soon as the little ones are hatched he brings 
small soft worms and bugs from the under side of plants 
and weeds growing at the edge of the water and feeds them, 
and changes to larger and harder food as they grow. When 
large enough to navigate he takes them out of the nest and 
teaches them how to obtain their food. He is ever on 
guard near the nest and woe to the fish that comes near it. 
He will dart at a fish twice his size. When the little ones 
are able to fare for themselves he leaves them. He is the 
fiercest, hardest fighter among our fish. He is not a canr 
nibal. I have found most every kind of water life inside 
black bass, that he could swallow, but I have never found 
another bass in him. Minnows, suckers, and small eels 
I frequently find in cleaning him. A fifteen inch bass 
when hooked makes a lusty fight. He fights with wisdom 
and strategy. He will run a hundred feet away from you. 
Then your line is slack and you think he is loose, when 
he is likely to demonstrate within a rod of you. He will 
leap into the air two feet. Let him have the line, only pull 
when he is not pulling. You have got to drown him. Have 
him swallow water. This he must do when moved through 

193 



the water swiftly at long distances. In his ordinary con- 
dition he does not swallow water but simply gets the 
oxogen out of it through his gills. Don't try to pull him 
out of the water — when he gets fagged and full of water 
near the shore get him with a landing net or if you have 
none lay down your pole and get into the water behind him 
and throw him out upon the bank with your hands. One 
large bass caught after a spirited fight will keep up your 
spirits and furnish a topic of talk for forty-eight hours. 
There is not much difference between tlje fight put up by 
a black bass and a speckled trout of the same size, but I 
think the bass puts up the most intelligent fight. I do not 
fish for the table but for the sport of it. James Scarlet, a 
successful fly fisherman of Danville, Pa., tells of meeting 
a country man on a trout stream who told him that there 
was a large trout in a certain hole who would not take a 
bait but might take a fly. Scarlet gave him several flies 
and a leader and said to him that he ought to have a land- 
ing net or he would not be able to land him. The man 
said, "I don't want to land him. I want him to get away 
so I can catch him again." This evidences the true spirit 
of the sport of fishing. I have four months of fishing 
out of the twelve each year. With four months of fish- 
ing and camp life, when your thoughts are occupied by 
the sport and your environments you will not think and 
worry so much about other things during the balance of 
the year. I envy no one. I wish all men and women were 
as contented and happy as I am. 



194 



